Paint it Black
by john n dean
Summary: Dean has been keeping secrets. John and Sam aren't sure how to deal with that. John/Dean. Warning: drug usage, mentions of rape/sexual abuse, possible dub con, consensual incest. Reposted from my LJ page.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Paint it Black, 1/9**  
>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean**  
>Rating: <strong>NC-17**  
>Word Count: <strong>2655**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary: **Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

_**A/N:**__ This is a brand new verse that I've been working on for a while. Hope you enjoy! __**Warning**__! This chapter has not been beta'd. I make an inordinate amount of mistakes when unsupervised so let me know if I did anything really stupid. LOL..._

**Chapter One**

_Seven years ago_

It was usually Dean's job to check the first aid kit, something John insisted was done before every hunt. Despite some recent teenage angst, the kid was good at it and the kit always met John's approval whenever they needed to use it or during his infrequent spot checks. Everything was clean and packed in the neat, precise way he wanted. So on a normal day, John didn't even touch the thing and even his spot checks had eventually fallen by the way side. But today, Caleb had shown up with cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder. John reset the shoulder and grabbed the first aid kit to give him some painkillers. But when he opened the large bottle of OxyContin, he found it half empty. He paused and stared inside, trying to figure out where the rest of the pills were. He'd just gotten the damn thing a month ago and no one had been injured in the interim.

"Somethin' wrong, Sarge?"

John put away his concern over the pills and tried to refocus on Caleb.

"Uh, no," John said and he shook a few out into his hand and gave them to the younger man. "Take one every twelve hours. Do _not_ chew 'em."

"What happens if I chew 'em?"

"You get high, do some stupid shit and wake up in even more pain. Probably in an alley with a lampshade over your head and your dick missin'."

"Ah. No chewing then," he said as he took the water bottle John offered him and washed down the pill, slightly amused by his former CO's hyperbole. He did seem to get the point, though.

"You sure you don't have a concussion?"

"Yeah. What? You don't think the cracked ribs and busted shoulder are enough?"

John snorted softly. "Just relax. Try to get some shut eye 'til your partner comes back. Best thing for an injury."

Caleb insisted on leaving a few hours later when his current hunting partner returned from his errands. John wasn't sure that was a very good idea, but he needed to figure out what the hell was going on with the drug supply without an audience. Besides, the guy Caleb had partnered with was driving so he should be able to get some rest on the road. The boys wouldn't be home for another hour or two, so John erased all traces of Caleb's visit. He didn't want to tip his hand in any way.

Even thought it was hard to wrap his mind around, John had to at least logically accept that one or both of the boys was probably behind the disappearance of the Oxy. Selling just one pill would earn some nice pocket money. It was either Dean or it was both of them. Dean would have noticed by now if Sammy was skimming the pills and put a stop to it. Unless it had been since their last hunt. Or Dean simply hadn't checked how full the bottle was beforehand. But the latter was so unlike Dean that he dismissed it out of hand.

However it was happening – _if_ it was happening – one was easier to deal with than two. And Dean, as a general rule, had been the easier of the two since around the time Sammy turned twelve.

So, instead of dropping Sammy off at school the next morning John took him to Blue Earth. Kid bitched a blue streak the entire way. John had never seen a fourteen year old put up such a fuss about being allowed to skip out on a Friday at school, but his Sam was one of a kind. Thank God. He made it back from Jim's just in time to intercept Dean on his way to pick Sam up.

"Sam's hanging with friends this weekend, kiddo."

Dean narrowed his eyes at John as he settled into the front seat. "You let him go?"

"Yeah. They're trustworthy. You know me… checked 'em out front to back. So it's just you and me."

"Great."

"Don't sound so happy." He was met with sullen silence as his oldest slumped in the seat and stared out the window. "You used to love gettin' some one on one time with the old man."

More silence. John sighed. He hated it when Dean got like this. Reminded him of the way the boy had been the year after Mary died. A silent Dean usually meant a withdrawn Dean. That was never, never a good thing.

Dean didn't go for the first aid kit until Saturday night about an hour after John had gone to bed. He was lying in the dark staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep for the second night in a row, when he heard the unmistakable sound of the metal box being pulled from the top of the medicine cabinet. Even as his heart was breaking to realize that he'd been right and his boy was stealing their drugs, he was still more than a little impressed with his patience and skill. He hadn't actually heard _Dean_ moving, even in the silence of the house and the sound of the kit being moved wouldn't have been enough to wake him. If John hadn't been paying attention the boy would have gotten away with it. It made him wonder what else Dean had gotten away with because he didn't think he needed to pay attention.

He crept out of his room and stood in the hall outside the bathroom. Dean went stock still, but didn't look at him.

"Dad."

"Son."

"How'd you know?" The boy finished refilling the bottle, all attempts at stealth abandoned, and put it back in the kit. John had been expecting him to take more out, but it made sense that Dean would put back what he'd taken. He wouldn't want John to find out. If Caleb had never come, John wouldn't have found out at all. A cold chill ran up his spine at the realization.

"Suspected," John said vaguely. Dean didn't need to know how close he'd come to getting away with the whole damn thing. "Didn't know for sure. Hoped like hell I was wrong."

"What happens now?" Dean put the kit away but still wouldn't turn to face John.

"I don't know. You broke my trust and that's a serious issue. Son, if you needed cash, all you had to do was come to me. We coulda worked somethin' out."

"Cash?"

"Sellin' drugs is a damn dangerous thing to do. And unlike all the illegal things we do to get by, there ain't no way to justify it."

"You think I'm _sellin'_?"

John's train of thought came to a screeching halt. He didn't want it to make sense, but it did. The irritableness, the mood swings, the short temper, the introversion. The days when he didn't even recognize his own son. Suddenly he felt like the biggest damn fool in the world because now… now it was as obvious as if it had been written in blinking neon lights. And still part of him couldn't believe it. "You've been… you've been _using_ them?" Even to his own ears, John sounded as lost as he felt.

"_Fuck_," Dean hissed, rubbing at his forehead. "I need to be high for this."

Before John could register what he was doing, Dean dug a pill out of his pocket, popped it in his mouth and started to chew. John moved forward, purely on instinct because his brain was refusing to function, and grabbed Dean by the arm.

"Dean!" He shook the boy hard enough to rattle his teeth. "Spit that out right the fuck now!"

Instead of obeying, the boy swallowed, staring at John with equal parts fear and defiance. John felt like he was in some nightmare version of his life. How the hell had he let things come to this? He knew he wasn't the greatest father in the world, but damn it he thought he was doing better than this. At least with his oldest.

"Dean… what…"

He watched helplessly as the drugs hit the boy's system. He wavered on his feet and John, still acting solely on instinct, pulled him against his chest to keep him steady, one hand cupping the back of the boy's head. Dean was nearly his height now, only about an inch shy, and his breath was hot and moist against John's neck. He tried to ignore the shivering it sent down his spine.

"'M sorry, Dad," the boy slurred out, his voice sounding heavy like he'd just awakened from a deep sleep. "'M sorry 'm broken. Don't know how I got like this."

"Dean. You can't… you can't keep doing this."

"Smell so good, Daddy. Why the hell you always gotta smell so goddamned good?"

Dean was clinging to him now, pressed against him in a way that was suddenly uncomfortably intimate, and something dark and forbidden was stirring in his gut. Something he thought he'd put an end to long ago. John's panic turned into full on horror and he manhandled Dean into the shower stall, only the strength of his grip keeping the startled boy on his feet, and turned on the cold water full blast.

Dean flailed and sputtered. "Sonovabitch! The _fuck_! Dad!"

Once the boy's flailing turned to shivering, John pulled him out. He already felt guilty. He sighed, mentally preparing himself for the task of getting his boy warm and dry.

"Take off your clothes, Dean."

Dean, who was already looking at him with an expression full of hurt and betrayal, went wide eyed and blushed. "What? No."

"You'll catch cold."

The kid gave him a scowl that might have given anyone else a moment's pause. But he'd gotten it from the man he was currently trying to use it on. "Yeah. 'Cause some _asshole_ gave me an ice cold shower. Don't act like you care now."

"Dean!"

"No!"

"Look… you wouldn't have liked where that was goin', okay?" John stopped and took a deep breath. Maybe he was the one who should have taken the cold shower in retrospect. "If it helps, I do feel like an asshole. But what's done is done."

Dean snorted. "Apology not accepted."

"Fair enough. Clothes off, now Dean." Dean didn't answer, just folded his arms, looking for all the world like a stubborn two year old. John was an inch away from melting into a helpless pile of parental goo, seeing him like this. Remembering the child he used to be. "It's nothin' I haven't seen before, son," John finally said in a softer tone.

"Don't remind me."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? "I need to get you dry and warm. _Now_, Dean!"

Finally, reluctantly, Dean undressed and left his clothes in a sodden pile. John dried him off briskly with the last clean towel, trying to warm him up. He ignored the fact that the boy was half hard. Or tried to. Tried to ignore the way the sight of it made his pants feel tighter and his mouth water. Tried to ignore the sudden desire to know what the boy tasted like. Dean was blushing furiously and he suspected the poor kid was mortified over his body having a mind of its own.

"It's alright, kiddo. Hard ons happen. Hell, a gentle breeze is enough to set you off at your age. Sexual peak and all."

Dean didn't respond other than to pull away and stumble down the hall to his room. John followed him, watched him from the doorway as he pulled on sweats and a pair of thick white socks. The boy had a perfect ass. Was there any part of him that wasn't beautiful? John pushed that from his mind. This was a serious situation… he need to stop being a damn perv and be his boy's father.

"You gotta stop takin' the drugs, son."

Fear and desperation flickered through the kid's face before he put on a mask of defiance. "'M eighteen. I can do what I want."

John laughed. Mostly because eighteen was so fucking young. If the kid only knew. "Yeah, but you can't do whatever you want _here_."

"What're you sayin'?"

"My house, my rules. You don't wanna live by my rules, you can't live in my house."

Dean set his jaw. It was an expression that John was much more used to seeing Sammy wear. But through all that defiance, he could see that the boy was actually terrified. "Fine."

He stood up, wavered on his feet a second before regaining his balance, and stalked to the closet. Angrily, he pulled out his duffle and started throwing things into it. John felt a thrill of panic in his gut. "What the hell do you think you're doin'?"

"You said I had to leave."

"That's not what I said."

"You said I either had to follow your stupid rules or leave."

"Well… fuck what I said… you don't get to leave."

"So I can keep taking 'em?"

"Hell no! Stop packing, Dean."

Dean didn't stop stuffing things haphazardly into his bag. John took two long strides into the room and grabbed him by the arms. Dean tried to flinch away but John wouldn't let him go.

"Did you hear me boy? I'm not gonna lose you."

"But… I _can't_." Dean bit his lip and tried to blink away tears. The boy looked miserable.

"You can't what?"

"I can't do it," he said in a small, hopeless voice that felt like a knife in John's heart. "I don't think I can stop."

"You have to. We'll do it together. We can do anything together, right?" There was no answer. He could still feel Dean trembling under his hands and cursed himself all over again for the cold shower stunt. He pulled the boy against him and rubbed his back, trying to warm him up, nuzzling the side of his face gently. "It's late and you're cold and definitely still fucked up. Sleep, okay? If you still wanna leave, you can do it tomorrow."

"You'd let me?"

"No," John answered honestly as he gently maneuvered the boy to his bed.

"You just _said_…" The boy's voice trailed off with a frustrated sigh.

"Sleep, son." He pushed his son into bed and covered him, tucking him in like he used to when Dean was small. "Just sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

_Two weeks ago…_

Dean looked like hell when Sam opened to door at the insistent knocking. The shock of seeing his bother bruised and scratched like that was even greater than seeing him there at all.

"You got a first aid kit, Sammy?" Dean asked without preamble, limping his way inside the small apartment.

"Uh, yeah." Sam was slightly hurt by his brother's abruptness. But the man was hurt, that was obvious enough. "Are you… where's Dad?"

"Maine, last I heard."

"What? Did you leave him?"

"No… just… separate hunts. Not that I'm not just dyin' to catch up," he said in a tone that said he wasn't, "but can we have this meet and greet _after_ I get cleaned up and catch a few z's?"

"Oh, yeah. It's right in the bathroom. I'll help you."

"No!" He said too fast, looking panicked. He blinked and seemed to realize that he'd over reacted. "I mean… I can handle it. Just… I need some clean clothes."

"Sure. What happened to your bag?"

"It's… I had to leave it behind. Dad'll probably pick it up."

"Yeah I got some clothes you can use."

Dean seemed to really look at him for the first time and blinked. "Damn, Sammy. Did you get _taller_?"

Sam shrugged and looked down. He thought he would feel better about being taller than his big brother now. But really, it just felt wrong somehow. Dean was supposed to be bigger. "A couple of inches."

Dean just snorted and shook his head, muttering "fucking sasquatch" under his breath as he limped into the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Paint it Black, 2/9**  
>Pairing: <strong>UnrequitedJohn/Dean**  
>Rating: <strong>NC-17**  
>Word Count: <strong>2640**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Drug abuse, Sexual abuse, Violence

**Summary: **Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

_**A/N:**__ This is a brand new verse that I've been working on for a while. Hope you enjoy! __**Warning**__! This chapter has not been beta'd. I make an inordinate amount of mistakes when unsupervised so let me know if I did anything really stupid. LOL..._

**Chapter Two**

_One Week Ago…_

"Dad?"

"_Hi Sam. I wasn't sure you'd answer."_

Fear and stress tightened in Sam's stomach. John was calling for Dean, not to make amends, not because he missed him. He knew that, but still. John _was_ calling. "I… the fight was stupid, okay? I shouldn't have said all that shit. Of course I'll answer your calls."

John chuckled. _"Yeah. There was plenty of stupid to go around that day, son. Sammy, I… I didn't mean it when I said you couldn't come back. I could never mean that. I was…" _his voice trailed off in a heavy sigh._ "I let my temper get the best of me. I shouldn't've said it."_

It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He'd told himself a dozen times a day that it didn't matter, that what his father had said didn't hurt. But it had. He did his father and himself a favor and accepted what he said at face value. "It's all water under the bridge, now. Right?"

"_Yeah, Sammy. Water under the bridge."_

"What happened to Dean?"

There was dead silence on the other line for a heartbeat. _"Is he there?"_ His father's voice was raw and desperate. He'd never hear the man sound like that before. _"Please tell me he's there right now and he's in one piece, Sammy."_

"You don't know?"

"_We… we were on different hunts and he just… fell off the radar. I drove twenty-eight hours straight to get to him but he was already gone. Left the car, his phone, his wallet, his clothes. Everything. I… I've been lookin' for _days_. I just called you hopin' maybe he came lookin' for a safe place."_

A safe place. The phrase rang all kinds of alarms. "Why the hell were you letting him hunt alone? He showed up here beat to shit, Dad! He's… somethin' bad happened to him. He won't tell me what. Everytime I try to find out he either shuts me down or changes the subject."

"_Sam… it was supposed to be an easy salt n' burn. You're bother is twenty five! He can do a salt 'n' burn in his sleep with one hand tied behind his back and just for your information, you're brother's one hell of a damn good hunter." _

"But he got hurt, Dad."

"_Yeah. Yeah… I know. I thought… Where is he now?"_

"He's asleep. He doesn't do that much." Sam didn't want to have to flatly refuse to wake Dean up, but he would if John didn't get the hint. Dean was so exhausted that Sam was afraid he'd drop in the middle of the street one day if he didn't finally get sleep. He would swear that his older brother didn't sleep at all for the first three days after he arrived. This was the first night he hadn't already awakened screaming in the past four.

"_Okay. When he… can you have him call me when he wakes up? I just… I need to hear his voice. Can you please tell him that for me?"_

"Yeah. Okay."

"_And Sammy? It's real good to hear yours too, son. Maybe we can make this a habit."_

He smiled. "Sure. As long as it's not 4 am next time."

John laughed. _"Yeah. Sorry about that."_

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

_Seven Years Ago…_

"Why Dean?"

It had to be the hundredth time he'd asked. He'd long since stopped expecting an answer. In fact, he was half convinced that his Dean-radar was completely busted and the kid was really still knocked out rather than pretending. Hell, most of the times he'd asked the question as he sat by his boy's bedside through the night he'd known for certain that Dean was dead to the world. He'd come back to check on the boy in between dumping every drug they had except for aspirin and Excedrin. If one of them got hurt, they'd just have to tough it out. He also dumped all the alcohol. Then he had a long talk with Pastor Jim, who told him a lot of shit he didn't want to hear.

"It's the only time I feel happy anymore." Dean's voice was barely loud enough for him to hear.

John's entire world tilted off its axis. He'd known Sam was unhappy with the way they lived, but he'd always had one firm belief: he'd rather have them unhappy now if it meant they survived later, then allowing them to be happy as clams and die young. But what if he'd made them so unhappy that they found ways to kill themselves?

"Is it the hunting?"

"No… I love the hunting."

"The moving?"

"No. It's none of that. It's not you or Sam. It's me."

John almost laughed. The boy sounded like he was trying to break up with a girl and let her down easy. "You?" he repeated incredulously.

"Somethin's wrong with me, Dad. And I tried to be different, I swear I did, but I can't."

"What is it, Dean? Tried to be different how?"

The boy's face heated and he seemed to decide that the edge of the blanket was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. "I can't tell you."

"Dean, son, you gotta. Keepin' it in is the problem. We don't gotta braid each other's hair and have a slumber party. You can just spit it out and we'll pretend you never said it later if you want."

"I already made a big enough fool of myself as it is."

"You gonna call me an asshole again if I push?"

Dean winced. "Shit… I did say that, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

Dean sat up slowly and slide backwards until his back was pressed against the headboard. "'M sorry. I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did."

The boy looked horrified. "Dad, I was under the influence… you can't believe I meant that."

John sighed. "Yeah… I know that's the only reason you actually _said_ it… but I do believe you meant it. No, it's okay. You're 18. You're allowed to think you're old man's an asshole every once in a while."

"As long as I don't call you one again?"

"Exactly."

Dean swallowed. "So… what now?"

"Now… we figure out where we go from here."

"Are you gonna… let me leave?"

"I don't want to. I looked up some shit about addiction while you were out. I can't make you stay and I can't make you stop using. You'll find away if you don't wanna stop. I'll get you whatever help you need, I'll find a way, I swear it. I'll do whatever it takes for as long as it takes. But…" His throat closed up. This was the part that made him want to curse out his oldest friend in the world.

"But?"

"If you're not serious about stopping, if you're not gonna give it everything you got… I can't watch you kill yourself, Dean. I can't. And I can't let Sammy watch it either. I'd like to think I can just order you stop and you will. Or that I can just keep you here and make you safe from the whole damn world and from yourself." John blinked at tears. "But I can't."

"So you're givin' up on me?"

"No… I could never…" John drew in a sharp breath. "I'm just sayin' that it's up to you. If you say that you wanna beat this thing, that you'll fight it, I will back your play one hundred and ten percent. No matter what you do, I will never, ever give up on you. But you can't give up on yourself."

"So it's you or the drugs?"

He'd argued with Jim about this for over an hour, but in the end he knew the man was right. He took a deep breath and said the only thing he could to save his son's life. "Yes."

Dean blinked at him with big green eyes. "Hurts to stop."

"Yeah. I figured as much. That's cause it's poison, Dean. It's killin' you a piece at a damn time. But I meant what I said. I'm not goin' anywhere."

The boy nodded. "Are you gonna tell Sammy?"

"The only thing I can promise is that he won't find out about it unless he has to know." Sam worshiped Dean. John didn't want the boy to feel betrayed the way he did once he realized what was going on with his son.

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

Sam was clearly surprised to see John picking him up with no Dean in sight for the second time in nearly as many weeks. "Hey, Dad."

"Hey son. We need to talk."

"Is it Dean? Did somethin' happen to him?"

"It is Dean… but he's not hurt. Not the way you think." John rubbed his hand over his face. How do you tell a kid that his big brother, the guy he idolizes, is a drug addict? He sighed out a breath. He couldn't do that. Maybe he was a coward and this was the easy way out. He didn't know. He just knew that he couldn't saddle Sammie with that. He didn't need to know yet and he'd given Dean his word. "He's sick."

"Sick?" Sam narrowed his eyes at John. "Dean's never sick."

"Dean never _admits_ to being sick," John corrected. "But he's too sick to fake it right now. I'm gonna take you to Uncle Bobby's while I take care of him, get him back on his feet."

"I can help."

"That wasn't a question, son."

"But-"

"I'm not in the mood for arguments, Sam. I'm takin' you to Bobby's, where you're gonna behave yourself, so I can focus on Dean." He was trying to spread Sam out among his friends to make sure he didn't wear out his welcome any time soon. He had no idea how long it was going to take to get Dean detoxed enough to keep Sam from launching into a barrage of questions and looking shit up.

Sam folded his arms and burrowed into the front seat as deeply as he could. "Since when have you ever done that?"

John grit his teeth. "I know you love your brother and I know you just wanna help him, so I'm gonna let that slid. But do not push me today, son. This has been a bad fucking week. I told you how it's gonna be and that's how it's gonna be."

They drove in sullen silence for nearly twenty minutes before Sam looked up at him through his bangs, looking young and unsure. "Dean's not… he's gonna be okay, right?"

"Yeah. He'll be okay. It's just gonna be kinda rough gettin' him there is all."

"He's my brother. I just wanna help."

"I know. But you're brother's proud. It's gonna be hard enough for him to accept help from me. If you're there, he'll just try to pretend that nothin's wrong. He'll never get better if he does that."

"It's not fair."

John snorted. "What about life made you think it would be fair, kiddo?"

He didn't feel particularly guilty about not telling Sammy the whole truth. He'd kept things from his boys before. Sometimes to protect them, others in a foolish bid to safeguard some remnant of their innocence that hadn't been ripped away yet.

He needed Sam away, not just so he wouldn't have to learn why his brother was shaking and sweating and vomiting up just about everything John managed to get into him. But he needed the boy out of the house just in case he could get Dean to tell him what he thought was so wrong with him. It bothered him that Dean had something going on in his head that he felt so guilty about that he had to use drugs in order to escape it, that he was too ashamed to tell John.

He knew that the boy hated weakness in himself, knew that it was a trait he'd inherited honestly. John couldn't abide his own weaknesses and sometimes it killed him to see his son take after him in that way. In some ways it was good because it kept him safer… but it could also cause a lot more problems than it solved. Like using drugs to try to forget that you're not perfect. He grit his teeth, had to force himself to loosen his jaw. He stopped at the store after dropping Sam off and brought several cans of broth, a box of crackers and some bottles of Gatorade.

Once he was back home, he found Dean laying on the couch watching TV. "You eat?"

Dean looked up at him, but didn't quite meet his eyes. The boy hadn't met his eyes since being caught with the Oxy. "No, sir. Not hungry."

"You feelin' sick already?" John asked as he put a hand on the boy's forehead to feel for a fever and found no signs of it. The boy was a little on the cold, clammy side though.

"Not really. I mean, not as bad as it's gonna get."

"If I made you soup, you think you could hold it down?"

"I said I wasn't hungry, Dad."

"Not what I asked."

Dean sighed. "Yeah. I can hold it down."

"Good. One hot bowl of soup coming up. And you're gonna eat as much of it as you can. Meaning you're going to eat it until you feel like you'll toss it if you keep goin'. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"I know this is hard, kiddo. But you're gonna need the energy for when your body starts to really kick your ass for abusin' it. It ain't gonna be pretty, and you may not get another chance to eat much for a while."

Dean nodded, but still didn't look at him. He wanted to shake the kid. Instead he went to the kitchen and nuked his son a bowl of chicken noodle soup, hoping he'd be able to keep it down long enough to get something out of it.

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

"You ever wish you didn't have us?" His son was looking at him with fever bright eyes and he had no doubt the question would never have been asked if he'd been in his right mind. Just like he had no doubt that the kid had thought about it before and he wasn't in his right mind at the moment. The question still hurt, though. There was nothing he'd rather have more than his boys. Not even Mary. They were the reason for every breath he'd drawn since the fire.

"No."

"Never?" Dean asked, sounding almost manic. The kid hadn't slept in four days, which meant John hadn't slept in four days either. And he would have practically killed someone for a drink. Or a couple of hours of shut eye. He wasn't sure which he wanted more at this point. The boy's leg was jiggling and John wasn't sure if it was the withdrawal causing it. Dean's legs seemed to shake, jiggle and bounce a lot over the past four days. It was worse whenever the boy nearly fell asleep. Which was often. The shaking would get so bad then that John almost called an ambulance twice. It was torture for John. It had to be worse for Dean. "You don't think that it would be easier if you didn't have us to drag around with you?"

"Easier don't mean better, kiddo." He gently pushed Dean's hand away from his arm. The kid kept nervously picking at the IV John ran to keep him hydrated. If he kept that up, he was going to get an infection.

"You swear?" It was the closest the kid would probably ever get to asking John if he loved him. Unless he got a hell of a lot more feverish, or was still awake for another few days.

"I swear. You're my family, son. You and your brother. You're all the family I got and all the family I need."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Paint it Black 3/9**  
>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean**  
>Rating: <strong>NC-17**  
>Word Count:<strong> 3210**  
>Disclaimer: <strong>If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Drug abuse, Sexual abuse, Violence

**Summary: **Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

_**A/N:**__ Yay! It's finally been beta'ed! Thanks to __**wickedlilwitch **__over on Livejournal__, who finally recuperated from Unrelated. If there are mistakes, blame her. J/k! Any mistakes are my fault as always._

**Chapter Three**

_Seven Years Ago…_

It was always hard to say no to your kids. It was even harder when that kid had been awake for five days straight shaking, sweating and vomiting. He was still sweating, which told John that he wasn't dehydrated, thanks to the IV. He'd even been able to get Caleb to bring him some fresh bags with vitamins, minerals and antioxidants in the fluids.

It didn't help that he was starting to worry about this strategy. Most people didn't know it, but a person could actually die from lack of sleep. That, coupled with how exhausting the fever and shaking had to be, was taxing the hell out of Dean's system. His son was young, healthy and strong… but even the strongest heart could give out under these circumstances.

He and Dean had both long since abandoned getting dressed every day. They both usually ended up soaked with Dean's sweat and other, far less sanitary body fluids. It was easier to just slip off their boxers, take a quick shower and slip on a fresh pair if they needed to. People talked about how painful withdrawal was, but nobody ever mentioned that it was also pretty damn disgusting.

Right now, he was spooned behind the boy, soaked with Dean's sweat and holding on to his wrists so he wouldn't keep scratching like he was trying to rip his skin off. The boy's legs were trembling. John had long since realized that there wasn't much he could do about any of it. Well, there was one thing.

"Please, Dad. Please. I'm so damn tired. Just give me enough to sleep. Just for a couple o' hours. Just like half a tablet or somethin'."

"I got rid of it all," he said, kicking himself once again for doing that. "And I'm not leavin' you alone to get more. I… if it's not any better tonight, I'll take you to the hospital, okay? They'll give you somethin' to let you rest." He gripped the boy's wrists with one hand and placed the other over the boy's heart. It was beating too fast.

"Dad…"

"I know. I'm sorry kiddo. So… did I ever tell you about my last hunt?"

Dean snorted softly. "Only 'bout six times."

"How about that 'shifter down in Memphis?"

"At least a dozen."

"Damn. I guess I need new material."

"Tell me somethin' about Mom."

The question made the breath catch in John's throat. He'd given up on hoping that thinking about his wife would hurt less with time. He forced a deep breath into his lungs. "Yeah. Okay. The first time I ever saw your mother…"

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

John was pretty sure Dean was delirious. It was the first time he'd fallen asleep in almost six days. It wouldn't be the first time exhaustion and prolonged fever led to delirium. John had fallen into an exhausted sleep next to him, the silence and stillness of his (_finally_) sleeping son putting him right out. He woke up to Dean rubbing himself against John's thigh, making the most delicious noises. The heat of Dean's hard on against his bare leg, even through the boy's boxers, almost made him hyperventilate. _Shit_.

"Please fuck me," Dean whispered against his jaw. The boy's skin felt damp, but it wasn't the sickly wetness of fever.

John felt suddenly lightheaded. He'd known that Dean was bisexual before the boy had figured it out himself, knew that he occasionally went out to fuck men rather than women. But for some reason he'd always pictured Dean as a top, and the idea that other men had actually been inside his son was both turning him on and pissing him off. He tried to push the boy away. "Dean…"

Dean's arms around him were like fucking bands of iron and the boy wasn't budging. "_Please_. I can be good for you."

"Son… it's me… it's your _father_."

"Need you. _Please_."

Dean somehow managed to elude all John's attempts to create more distance between them and pressed their groins together, seeking friction. John groaned when he felt Dean's hard cock slid against his own, and realized for the first time that he was just as hard. Dean's entire body somehow ended up pressed against his despite all his efforts. All that hot soft skin and hard muscle pressing against him undid his resolve. The feeling of their erections moving against through the thin cotton of their boxers as Dean rolled his hips shorted out his higher thought processes. Wanting to have sex with your son and actually doing it were two different things. One was sick, the other was evil. This was wrong on so many levels. A violation of his son's trust. The kid had no idea it was him… But John's panic was being suffocated by lust. Before he knew it they were kissing. John wanted to stop it, knew he should stop it… but it felt so damn good and the boy's mouth was so damn sweet.

His son was still making the most amazing noises. He never wanted it to stop, even though he knew it inevitably would, knew _how_ it would, and that he'd never forgive himself when that happened. The hands on Dean's thighs meant to push him away were suddenly pulling him closer. The boy kissed him again and this time he didn't hesitate to kiss back. Every nerve in his body tingled as they rutted and tongue fucked each other desperately. It was the most alive he'd felt in so damn long. He came too soon, and Dean came right after him with a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a groan. The boy went lax against him, falling asleep almost immediately and leaving John alone with his guilt.

John eased his way out of Dean's embrace and cleaned himself up in the bathroom, avoiding his reflection the entire time. He wanted to do the same for Dean… but something about touching him down there, after what he'd just done, turned his stomach. The very idea made him feel like he'd be committing an even worse violation. So he lay down next to his son and stared at him, wondering where the hell this train had started going off its tracks. He reviewed every time he'd been wrong, every miscalculation, every misstep. It was a damn long list. He fell asleep about halfway through it.

The next day, Dean didn't seem to remember anything about the night before other than think he'd had an embarrassing wet dream. John let him believe it because it was a damn sight better than the truth of what had happened, what he'd done to his own boy. Dean was sore and irritable and still shaky. But he was sober. John was determined that he was going to stay that way. He found him his first NA meeting before the end of the day and dropped him off. He made his son promise to find a sponsor within a week and for the next 90 days, no matter where they were or how busy he was, he made sure that Dean went to a meeting every day.

But John never forgot the night that he'd crossed the line as a father and he was sure that he'd never forgive himself. Never forget looking down at his son afterwards and seeing his lips swollen and spit slick, and knowing he'd done that. It was a burden he was determined to bear alone. Dean had enough to shoulder already. He didn't need to know that his father couldn't be trusted.

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

Dean had just come home from his fourteenth NA meeting. He was eating SpaghettiOs straight from the can. John was angry, had spent the entire time driving to pick the boy up and driving them back home trying to calm himself down enough to handle this without yelling. He wasn't sure he'd make it. Dean seemed sense his mood and seemed to be trying to keep out of his way. He tried to remind himself that what he'd done just a short while ago was far worse, but it wasn't working.

"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to cook that," he pointed out.

Dean shrugged and shoveled in another spoonful. "I kinda like it like this."

John nodded and traced invisible circles on the kitchen table. "So… when exactly was the last time you went to school?"

Dean froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"I stopped by the high school after I dropped you off at NA thinkin' I'd pick up your school work, let 'em know you didn't fall down a deep dark hole never to be found again and that you would be back in another week or two. You know, the whole father routine. Imagine my surprise when they said they'd never heard of you."

He dropped the spoon inside the half empty can. He ran his tongue between his bottom lip and his teeth. "It's been a while."

"Define a while, Dean."

The boy sighed and looked pale. He wasn't just avoiding John's eyes. He was avoiding looking at him altogether. "Two years."

John gapped at his son, unable to speak. Unable to comprehend what he was being told. "I coulda swore I just heard you say two years."

Dean swallowed convulsively and looked everywhere in the room but John, his eyes darting around like he was trying to map out an escape route. "Yeah."

John covered his mouth with a hand. He'd thought it was a good thing that they let kids register themselves in high school. All he needed to do was give Dean his old records and it helped the kid feel more like an adult… "Wait… where the hell did you get your old records? Obviously, you weren't gettin' from your old school since you weren't even _registered_."

"I… I forged them."

"God." John buried his face in his hands. The room was so quiet he could actually hear the clock on the wall above the refrigerator ticking. If the memories of all the times Dean came home with stories about school weren't making him sick, he'd probably be laughing. "Maybe it would be easier if I asked what you _haven't_ lied to me about." Dean flinched, and he wanted to feel bad about it, but he couldn't make himself. "Why Dean? What the hell were you doin' when you were supposed to be at school?"

Dean shrugged. "Drinkin' mostly. Especially at first. Smoked a little weed. Did a few other… a few other drugs, mostly laced in the weed. Then last year someone gave me some Oxy, and… at first it was just a little every once in a while. Forty milligrams. Then it was once a day. Then it was twice. They're expensive, so when I… when I got hooked, I spent a lot to time hustlin', tryin' to scrap together enough for a day or two's worth."

John couldn't believe this. When had he become one of those parents whose kids were hanging out in abandoned buildings all day getting high while they were too damn busy to notice? "Did you steal for it?"

The boy bit his lip and nodded. "But not from you," he added quickly. "I never stole from you, I swear."

"Except the Oxy from the kit, right?" John reminded him. He was so sick of the lies and the secrets and the half-truths and the fucking letting him assume things that were six different kinds of off base.

"I put that back, all of it."

"So you think it's not stealing if you take something without permission just 'cause you put it back?" Dean bit his lip again, but didn't answer. "How about prostitution?"

"Dad…"

"Answer the damn question, Dean! Did you sell yourself for drugs?" Just asking the question made him feel like he was going to be sick. He didn't really want to know but he had to.

Dean blinked at tears. "A couple times, when I couldn't get enough money. It was just…" He opened his mouth and closed it again. "It was just… a few blow jobs." He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob and wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. "That's why I took the pills from the kit. I hated… doin' that. I… I didn't wanna… It just got so expensive it was hard to get enough money without… "

"And then there's all the lying."

"I'm sorry."

"Were you at least safe? Did you use condoms?"

"With the… those times I…?"

"All the damn time, Dean," John said a little more sharply than he meant to. As hard as it was for Dean to talk about prostituting himself, it was just as hard for him to hear it. "Even when it wasn't for… Even when it wasn't to get drugs. Do I need to take you to get tested?"

Dean licked at his lips and picked at the label of the SpaghettiO can. The tears were falling freely now. He finally nodded.

"Oh, Dean," John sighed out. His anger bled right out of him as the realization of how much Dean had endangered himself finally caught up to him, leaving him feeling tired and hollow. What was his son doing to himself? What if he had a disease, something that couldn't be cured? What if he had _AIDS_?

"Do you want me to leave?" Dean's voice sounded flat and lifeless. Was that what this constant leaving shit was really about? Was he so terrified of John tossing him out on his ass when all his lies came unraveled that he was trying to beat him to the punch? Or was he using it as a thermometer to figure out when John had finally had enough of it all? When his father finally gave up on him, when his love wouldn't be enough to cover the multitude of his sins anymore?

John sighed and moved his chair closer to put a hand on his boy's head. Dean flinched but didn't pull away. That flinch hurt though. He'd never raised a hand to either of his sons. "Dean… I told you already. I will fight for you until my last god damn breath. I swear, I will never give up on you. I just… you have to understand that I can't trust you the way I used to anymore. I don't know when I will be able to again." That was probably the thing that hurt the worst. He couldn't trust his first born son anymore.

It seemed to hurt Dean just as much. The look the boy gave him was heartbreaking. "How can I make this right?"

"You're gonna get your GED, for starters. And you're gonna start bein' where you say you're gonna be when you say you're gonna be there. No exceptions. All the lying stops. The letting me assume one thing when the truth is really that something very different is going on ends. All of it, right now."

The boy nodded. "Okay. Are… does Sammy have to know?"

John was starting to suspect that this tendency to want to hide things – from him, from Sam – wasn't a good thing. Maybe it was even a destructive thing. Jim had warned him. Addicts lie. No matter who they were before the addiction or how trustworthy they'd been in the past. They all lie. He hadn't wanted to really believe it at the time. After all, this was Dean. His responsible, dependable Dean. "We're not lyin' to your brother, Dean. We don't have to tell him every detail, but we don't lie to family."

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

_One Week Ago…_

"I know you both said it was a hunt, but was it Dad? That did this to you?" Sam and Dean were both standing in Sam's tiny kitchen. Even though he seemed like a shell of the man Sam remembered, everything still felt smaller with Dean around.

"That did _what_ to me, Sam?"

The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Sam wasn't afraid of his brother, exactly. Dean wouldn't hesitate to punch him, and punch him damn hard, if he thought he deserved it. And without a shred of remorse later. But Sam knew how to take a punch. Even the ones Dean dished out, though he suspected that Dean could hit much harder. To be honest, he really did deserve it about 95 percent of the time. Sometimes he pushed Dean's buttons just like he pushed John's, and when your family's coping skills consisted of pushing back (John) or throwing punches (Dean) when the right buttons were pushed what could you really expect? So the possibility of Dean hitting him didn't scare him. The edge of warning in Dean's tone and the stony set of his expression right now did and he couldn't figure out why.

Sam cleared his throat. "I dunno… hit you?"

"Dude… unless we're sparrin', Dad has never hit me. Just like he's never hit you."

"Yeah. I know. It's just… I don't understand why you don't wanna talk to him. Or why you just left all your shit behind. Especially the car. You _love_ that car. How could you leave her behind like that?"

Dean looked down at the kitchen countertop and scrapped at the cheep Formica with a fingernail. "He sent me because he thought I could handle it, Sam. And I couldn't. I didn't deserve it any more. Maybe I never actually did."

"Well, last night he told me that you were one hell of a good hunter."

Dean's head snapped up in surprise. "He said that?"

"Yeah. Until he talked to me he thought you hadn't made it, and he still thinks you're good."

"He thought I was _dead_?" Dean looked alarmed by that.

"Yeah. What else was he supposed to think? You disappeared on him. You scared the hell out of him, but you didn't let him down, Dean."

Dean barked out a harsh laugh. "Well, I let m'self down enough for the both of us."

"He said he just wants to hear your voice."

Dean stole a glance at Sam. It was just one more indication that something was seriously wrong. Something more than just a hunt gone bad, because Dean was an eye-contact kind of guy. When he talked to you, even when he was lying his ass off, he looked you in the eye. But he hadn't really looked Sam in the eye once since he'd been there. "Gimme you're phone, Sammy."

Sam handed him the cell phone and Dean punched in the number from memory. He was silent for much longer than Sam knew John would let the phone ring. He could faintly hear his father's voice on the other end.

"Hey, Dad… it's me." There was a short pause. Dean took a deep, shaky breath. "'M sorry I worried you. I didn't mean to. I just didn't… I didn't think. … No, it's not that. I just… I can't explain it. … 'M sorry." Dean snorted softly. "That's easy for you to say. … I don't know, Dad. … I want to. I just don't know if I can. … Me too. You… you know that, right? 'Cause I do. I really, really do. … Okay. … I promise. Bye."


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Paint it Black 4/9  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 3190  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Drug abuse, Sexual abuse, Violence

**Summary:** Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

_**A/N:**__ Yay! It's finally being beta'ed! Thanks to __wickedlilwitch__, who finally recuperated from Unrelated. If there are mistakes, blame her. J/k. Any mistakes are my fault as always._

**Chapter Four**

_One Week Ago…_

"So… you seein' anybody?" Dean's voice was relaxed for the first time in a long time as he slouched on the couch next to Sam.

Sam felt his face warm in a blush. "Sort of."

Dean gave him a knowing smirk, but Sam noticed that the shadows were still in his eyes. Whatever was bothering his big brother was still there. "How do you sort of see somebody? Either you are or you aren't."

"Her name is Jess."

Dean's smirk turned into a toothy grin. "She hot?"

"Dude! Is that all you think about?"

Dean softly kicked him in the shin, and Sam suddenly realized that this was the first time Dean had touched him the entire time he'd been staying here. "That a yes or a no?"

"Yes, Dean. She's… _gorgeous_."

"Have you managed to get past second base yet?"

Sam shook his head and blushed. "I cannot believe you, man."

"Oh, com' on! I'm your big brother. If you can't tell me, you can't tell anybody."

"Yes, okay. Our relationship is… serious."

"Is that code for your having sex?"

"Dean!"

"Sammy!"

"You're such a _dick_."

"I'll take that as a yes." Dean snorted and took a sip of his bottled water, some of his good humor slipping away. "That's good, man. I'm happy for you."

"How about you? I mean, I know you used to slide into home with a new girl every week, but there anybody special yet?"

"Yeah, there was one person."

"Really? Who is she?"

"He."

"What?"

"It's a guy."

Sam stared at his brother. "You're _gay_?"

"No… 'M _bisexual_. And I lean strongly towards bein' straight. The number of men I've been interested in can probably be counted on one hand. Okay, maybe two. Two and a half. That's my story and 'm stickin' to it. Anyway, I just… happened to fall in love with one of 'em. Can't explain how. Doesn't even matter now, though." Dean sounded suddenly sad. "It's over."

"How the hell did I not know you're bisexual?" Sam asked, bewildered. It wasn't like Dean was private or even tactful about his sex life. There was no hint of embarrassment in his admission that he'd been almost as prolific with men as he was with women, either. So how had Sam not realized this?

"Like I said… I liked girls more. And I had a hell of a lot more experience with them."

"Does Dad know?"

"Yeah, Sam," Dean said as if it had been a crazy question. "Who else do you think I talk to about potentially confusing shit?"

"I dunno. Bobby. Pastor Jim."

"Yeah. Sometimes I talk to them. Hell, sometimes Dad sends me to 'em. But no, I usually go to _Dad_ first. The first time I had a crush on another guy, I thought there was somethin' wrong with me. Dad straightened me out though." He laughed at his unintentional pun. "Figuratively speaking, anyway."

"So he was cool with it?"

"Yeah. What'd you think he'd do? Kick me out? Tell me I could only look at girls? He bought me lube and told me to be careful about which kinds of condoms I used."

"Why?"

"I guess he didn't want me to catch somethin' that might make my dick fall off, Sammy."

"No… I mean why did you have to be careful about which kinds of condoms you use?"

"'Cause some degrade with certain types of lube. Don't they teach this stuff in sex ed or somethin'?"

"I'm not gay or bisexual. Why would I pay attention to that?"

Dean looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "You do know straight people have anal sex too right?"

"Uhm, yeah."

Dean snorted softly. "Dude, you are so vanilla."

He scowled at brother but didn't take the bait. "How'd _Dad_ know about the lube and condom thing?"

"He's _Dad_. He knows everything. Besides, you know him. He's as bad with researching everything as you are. When he found out I was bi, he looked up everything he could find. I'm shocked he didn't join PFLAG."

Sam snorted. "Whatever, man. So what happened with the guy you were with?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why's it over?"

Dean shrugged, shutting down again. "It just is. It wouldn't have worked out in the long run anyway."

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

_Seven Years Ago…_

"Why don't you take your brother outside, Dean?"

The boy looked from John to Jim and back again nervously before nodding. "Yes, sir."

John watched as Dean herded his little brother out of the house. "I don't know who the hell he is anymore, Jim," he blurted as soon he was sure the boys were out of earshot. "Worse, I'm startin' to feel like I _never_ knew who he was. Has he been playin' me like this his whole fucking life?"

"John… you did know him once. This kid, the one who's been lyin' to you every day, is not Dean. It's the _drugs_. Until he's completely sober, he's gonna lie, cheat and steal. But once he gets sober, you'll have your son back again. Not that there won't be differences, but he won't be this."

"He's off the drugs now."

"That doesn't mean his sober. Just means he's _dry_. Addiction is a disease that doesn't just affect the body. It affects the mind, every relationship, the entire way he sees the world is warped and twisted by it. He has all sorts of distorted thought processes right now. If lying is the easiest way out of a situation at any given moment, he's gonna lie. He's gonna choose the path of least resistance at the moment without a thought to what might happen down the line. He literally cannot understand long term consequences right now. Like trying to leave the night you caught him with the drugs. Where was he gonna go? What was he gonna do? Go off to some abandoned building or a friend's house and stay high for a few days? Then what?"

"How did I not see it? I'm his father. I'm supposed to protect him from this shit."

"I've seen a lot of families torn apart by addiction, John. You probably made some mistakes. But all parents do. You can't go there, man. You can't sit around tryin' to figure out what you did to cause this. Addiction is a complicated thing and no one factor got him to this point."

"Then what do I do?"

"Got to meetings. It's not enough to drop him off at NA every day. If you're gonna help him through this, you need to go to Al-Anon meetings. Find out how to deal with an addict, to tell the difference between when it's Dean talkin' and when it's his addiction. He needs someone who can call him on his bullshit. Until he starts working on the ways that his drug use has distorted his thinking, that's gotta be you. And hopefully his sponsor."

"Bullshit a theological term, pastor?"

Jim chuckled. "I was a Marine before I was a pastor. You and Dean will find your way again, John. I may disagree with you about some things, but I know how much you love your sons. And I know how much they love you."

Jim gave him a book on cleansing, told him that it would probably be a good idea to completely clean Dean's system out.

He went outside to find his boys in a tree. He squinted up at them. "You mind if I borrow your brother for a few, Sammy?"

Sam glared at him and uttered a sullen, "Fine."

John often didn't know what to do with Sam. Did the boy want more time or less? The things that worked with Dean didn't work with Sam. Of course, the things that he thought worked with Dean obviously _hadn't_ worked with Dean either.

Dean jumped down from the tree and they walked a few yards away before John showed him the book. He groaned he saw the list of things he'd have to avoid for the next 30 days. Red meat, refined sugar, processed foods.

"You really wanna complain," John asked darkly.

Dean sighed. "No sir. I guess I deserve it."

"It ain't a punishment. It's to get you healthy again. You lost twenty pounds. It's not like you had twenty pounds of fat on you. The detox taxed the hell out of your system. You're entire body needs to recover. Jim thinks this is a good way to do it."

"Life without French fries, Dad? That's not a punishment?"

"It's only 30 days, kiddo. You'll be back to eating cheese burgers with extra onions and peanut M&Ms before you know it."

"Thirty days is _forever_."

John would have laughed it off if it hadn't been for his conversation with Jim. "You're 18. How much is 18 times 12?"

Dean squinted an eye for a second as he quickly worked it out in his head. If the boy was any slower at how fast he was with numbers, John couldn't tell. "Two sixteen."

"You've already lived through more than two hundred and sixteen 30 day periods, kiddo. It's not forever. It's just a few weeks out of hundreds."

Dean blinked at him and nodded. "Yeah. I guess it's not really that long."

"No, it's not. And when you're finished, you'll feel stronger. Think of it as special training. Like Rocky before a big fight. We'll even drag Sammy out of bed at the ass crack of dawn to go runnin' with us before school."

"You're gonna… you're gonna do it with me?"

"Of course. I told you I'd be right there with you every step of the way. I'm even gonna start goin' to meetings too."

"You're comin' to my meetings?" The boy looked alarmed and John couldn't help the laugh that he barked out.

"Dude! I'm not going to NA with you. There are these meetings called Al-Anon. They're for family members."

"Oh. Will it ever be like it was again? Between you and me?"

"No, son. Least I hope not. I want it to be better. I wanna trust you 'cause you tell me the truth, not 'cause I think you are. I want you to trust me enough to tell me the truth. I want you to believe that even if I might get mad and yell and maybe even say a bunch of stupid shit I don't mean 'cause my temper's too damn short, I will never turn on you."

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

Three months later, John was leaning against the Impala at a gas station waiting for his sons to come out of the bathroom when Sammy came running out like his hair was on fire.

"Dad!" he yelled before he got halfway to the car. John rushed to meet him halfway. "These guys… they attacked Dean! You gotta help him."

"They… what?"

"They slammed his face into the mirror and hit his head on the corner of the sink! There's blood everywhere!"

"Get in the car!" John handed the boy a gun and shoved him into the driver's seat. "Do not leave this car. If they come out and head your way, drive away."

"But Dad…"

"_Sammy_, I can't help Dean if I can't trust you to do what I tell you. How many? Are there guns?" He called out as he popped the trunk.

"Three. I didn't see any guns." Sam clenched his jaw shut and watched his father through the open door.

John felt like time was passing too quickly and he was moving too damn slowly. He grabbed two guns from the trunk and headed for the bathroom without a care for the people who saw them in his hands and started to panic. He found the door locked, but he could hear sounds on the other side. He landed a solid kick against the door next to the nob, sending the door flying inward in a shower of splinters.

Sammy hadn't seen a gun, but he knew that didn't mean there wasn't one. Thankfully, though, there still were none in sight as he entered the room and pointed the guns as the heads of the two nearest boys. Dean was slouching in the corner with one eye swollen shut and glaring with the other. The boy was bleeding badly from a head wound, the entire side of his face black and blue. Both his hands were loosely fisted and held up in front of him, the upper part of one arm pressed against his side.

The other boys were standing in a semicircle around him, just out of reach. Their attention was immediately on John and the two guns pointed in their direction.

"Am I interruptin' somethin'?" John asked, the casualness of his voice belying his anger.

"You a cop?" One of the boys sneered at him.

"Nope."

"Then this ain't none of your business old man," a vicious looking mutt who seemed to be their ring leader snarled.

"That's my son you got corned. That would make this my business."

The boy glared at him. "What're you gonna do? Shoot us? Steal the rest of our drugs?"

"What?" John looked from the kid to Dean and back again. "Look. I don't know what he did and frankly I don't really give a damn. You're leavin' right now. Or I'm gonna start shootin'."

The boys left, the ringleader glaring at Dean before walking away. "This ain't over."

John rolled his eyes. Talk about an idiot. If he were a different kind of man all he'd have to do was pull the trigger to make sure it was. Once the boys were gone, he went to his son. He cupped the boy's face and winced as he looked over the damage.

"Dad-"

"Not now, Dean. Do you need a hospital?" Dean pressed his lips together and shook his head. "You absolutely sure?" There was a nod. "Okay. I'm gonna take you home and clean you up there. You can tell me all about it tomorrow. Tonight we get outta dodge."

For once, Sam didn't complain about leaving town in the dead of night. He even packed his own stuff in record time so he could help Dean, who had at least one cracked rib in addition to a whole chorus of bruises and scratches. And he didn't complain about the necessity of leaving most of his books. In fact, he didn't even have to be told to cut back on what he was packing. It was such a refreshing change that it almost eased the knot of tension in John's stomach. He decided to go to the cabin for a few days, get his bearings and figure out what they were going to do.

He drove through the night to get there. He wasn't going to spend another night somewhere he wasn't sure his boys would be safe. Once he got the boys settled in and Sam was dead to the world he went outside to think. He was sitting outside on the front porch staring up at the early morning sky when Dean came out. The boy was so black and blue just looking at him hurt.

"His name is Sugar and he's a drug dealer."

"Sugar?"

Dean shrugged with one shoulder, his arm wrapped around his ribs. "I stole a hundred pills from him."

John frowned at his son. "You stole drugs from a dealer?" He repeated slowly. He had to stop himself from asking why he wouldn't have just broken into a pharmacy. At least they wouldn't try to hunt him down and kill him.

"I had to replace the pills I took from the kit before our next hunt! I was desperate and he wouldn't let me buy them."

"He wouldn't? Why?"

"He wanted to… he wanted to _barter_ instead."

"Barter? What the hell did he want? Did he want you to steal somethin' for him?"

Dean shook his head. "He's a pimp too. He was pissed that I wouldn't… that I'd rather steal or run a scam then… he said I'd make more money on my knees and even more if I… went all the way. But I told him that I didn't wanna do that and I wasn't a whore. That I had the cash and I could get more other ways, but he laughed at me. Said I was a whore if he said I was a whore. I just… freaked out. I punched him and took the whole bag he had on him and ran."

Son of a bitch. He suddenly regretted not shooting the little bastard. It wasn't enough that he had John's boy out there stealing and scamming for cash to give him for drugs. He wanted to make even more money off Dean by selling his ass on the street and keeping him under control with a steady flow of pills. As stupid as stealing the pills had been, it was probably the better alternative. Of course, the best thing would have been for Dean to walk away altogether. John couldn't let himself ignore that, couldn't allow himself to make excuses for Dean's behavior. "And you didn't think the angry drug dealer slash pimp that you'd just humiliated and stole from would be lookin' for you?"

"I'm an idiot, Dad, but I'm not _that_ stupid. He didn't know who I really was or where I lived. I made sure of it. He lives two towns over. Just dumb luck he saw me outside that gas station."

John sighed. "You're not an idiot, son. But you've been lettin' the drugs do all the thinkin' for you for too damn long now. What if he'd seen you when I wasn't around? What if they'd grabbed Sammy too?"

Dean stared down at his bare feet. "I didn't think of that."

"I know you didn't. I know you'd never put Sammy in danger on purpose. But you're not thinkin' straight yet. Is there anyone else that would want you dead for any reason? Anyone else you stole from or scammed that would be lookin' for you?"

"I don't think so."

John sighed. That would have to be good enough for now. "How about the rest of the pills you stole? There should be at least 75 more somewhere. Well, I tossed the 30 or so you had in your pocket, so 45."

"I gave 'em to a friend. She probably used 'em all by now."

John was glad they were gone. He never wanted to see another Oxy pill the rest of his life. He sighed and put an arm around his son and pulled him close. The boy melted against him, trembling slightly. "I won't let anything happen to you. You just gotta stick close for the next few months and make sure you stay armed. Keep your eyes open."

"I'm so fucked up, Dad," the boy said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"I know, kiddo. But you're gettin' better. Every day, you're gettin' better."

"In some ways it was better when I was on drugs. No matter what was wrong I could just pop a pill and it would all go away. Only it wasn't gone. I was just too fucked up to care. I don't wanna go back to that, Dad. I don't wanna be numb anymore. But this… this hurts."

"I know. But the pain's how you know you're alive."

Dean snorted softly. "Then I'm really, really alive right now."

"Yeah. Me too, kiddo."


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Paint it Black 5/9  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 3640  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Drug abuse, Sexual abuse, Violence

**Summary:** Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

_**A/N:**__ Yay! It's finally being beta'ed! Thanks to __wickedlilwitch__, who finally recuperated from Unrelated. If there are mistakes, blame her. J/k. Any mistakes are my fault as always. I just realized that I labeled this as unrequited John/Dean... I have no idea why I did that, unless I was thinking of the early chapters. I'm sorry. *walks away in shame*_

**Chapter Five**

_Six Years Ago…_

John pulled up to the motel to find Dean pacing outside muttering to himself. The boy had been acting strangely for a couple of days, and John didn't like it. He got out of the truck and grabbed the two bags of groceries he'd picked up with one hand.

"Dean… you okay?"

"Yeah… no… I…"

"You're not using again, are you?"

"No… I'm not." When John didn't respond, Dean held up his hands. "I swear, I'm clean Dad. You ever gonna trust me again?"

"I want to Dean. You needed my help and I didn't see it 'cause I was so damn busy trustin' you that I ignored all the warning signs. I know I'm goin' overboard in the other direction now… but it's gonna take some time. It's better, though, right? Then it was at first?" John opened the door and waved him inside. Dean waited just inside the door and followed him into the kitchen.

"Yeah. It is," the boy said from behind him. He took one of the bags John was holding and started putting things away.

"You've worked hard," John pointed out. "Got your GED, stayed clean, stayed honest."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I almost used again. I bought some Oxy yesterday. But I didn't take it. I threw it away and called my sponsor. I just got back from an NA meeting."

John's heart gave a painful squeeze in his chest, but he forced himself to smile. "That's good, son. I'm proud of you."

"I haven't had a craving in months and then, outta the blue… There's somethin' I need to be honest with you about, Dad."

Damn it… he'd just come to some sort of calm acceptance of the lies he knew about. Nothing else had come up since the whole Sugar thing and he'd hoped that was the last of it. "Which would be?"

Dean looked away and took a deep breath. "The reason… the reason I started usin'."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it?"

"I don't. God, I really, really don't. But I have to. 'Cause if I don't… If 'm not honest, I'll start usin' again. I tried to avoid it, but then yesterday… So I have to tell you. Promise you won't make me leave."

"Make you leave? I wouldn't _let_ you leave when you tried to… what makes you think I'd kick you out?"

"Just… promise."

John regarded his son silently for a few seconds. The boy looked scared shitless. "Okay," he finally said. "I promise."

Dean took another deep breath. "I'm in love with you."

John was stunned. That was the last thing he expected to hear. "What?"

"I'm in love with you. I dream about… being with you. About the way you sound, the way you smell. About the feel of your hands."

"Dean… I'm… I'm your _father_." John knew from firsthand experience that fact didn't mean anything. Not between the two of them anyway. All those rules about father and son, and how they behaved and felt… they were all scrambled up and inside out when it came to him and his oldest. Had been for a long, long time.

"I know… I know I'm a freak, Dad." Dean looked tormented, rubbing at his arm and shuffling from one foot to the other. All John wanted to do was hold him, promise everything was going to be okay. Whatever it took. "You never hear about kids who think of their fathers that way. That's why I started drinkin' and takin' drugs… I just wanted to forget. And school was… I never fit in. No matter how hard I tried and then I stopped tryin' and that just made it even worse and they started makin' up stories about shit I'd done in my last school or town. So when I started thinkin' about… bein' with you, I just figured it was more proof that I was wrong somehow. The drugs and shit never made me stop thinkin' about you, but it helped me forget that it was wrong. Or made me not care so much that I was a pervert at least. When I was high, it was okay. I was okay. Normal, even."

"Jesus, Dean." John rubbed his mouth, and backed up a step. Like that would make him forget how sweet Dean's mouth had tasted that night months ago. Had he somehow done this to his son? Had his own twisted wishes somehow infected the boy? What the hell had he done to his son?

"I can…" Dean looked up at him with big, green eyes. He looked so damn young and so damn old all at once. It reminded him of when he'd gone back to work right after the fire and how Dean would cling to him when he got back to their little apartment. _I'll be good, just don't leave_. "I can control myself. I… I know I can't have everything I want. I can't have what I want from you. I shouldn't even want it in the first place. I get that, Dad. I already lost your trust. I can't lose you completely. Please, Dad. It doesn't have to be… it doesn't have to be _weird_." Only Dean could say something like that didn't have to be weird with a straight face.

"Dean…" John closed his eyes and huffed out a soft laugh. It was easy to deny his feelings when he thought they weren't reciprocated. Easy to leave the memory of the way Dean felt and smelled and sounded in his dreams when he could hide behind the guilt he felt over it while he was awake. He should just tell Dean everything was okay and walk away. He knew that. If ever there was a no brainer, this was it. There was no circumstance when it would be alright to want to have sex with your own son. He opened his eyes and looked at Dean, really looked at him. Standing there worrying his bottom lip, a frown creasing his brow as he waited for John to flip out on him, he was a beautiful boy… a beautiful man. And the only thing that felt right was the absolute last thing he knew he should do. "Fuck it."

He pulled Dean towards him and pressed their lips together. Surprise made Dean slow to react, but when he did it was without the slightest reservation. His boy was never one to look gift horses in the mouth. He barely realized that they were moving until he felt the wall against the back of his hand. He put his hands on Dean's hips and kept the boy immobile while he desperately rubbed their erections together. It was good… it was so fucking good. But it wasn't enough.

"Fuck me… _please_… need you…"

John was just beginning to understand that Dean had known it was him that night he was delirious. The kid probably thought it was a dream, but he hadn't been thinking about anyone else. He'd been thinking about _John_. He groaned and pressed harder against his son. The boy was clutching at him and he was trying to get them as close as possible, trying to pull his son inside his skin. He was so lost in what they were doing that he barely heard the door unlocking. Sammy. The thought sent a thrill of fear through him that turned him instantly from hot to ice cold. He threw himself away from Dean almost violently.

Fuck… what had he just almost done? He looked at Dean from the other side of the kitchen. The boy was staring back at him, eyes wide, lips slick and slightly swollen, clothes and hair askew, and it was all he could do to ignore the impulse to kiss him again. Even if Sam was home. But he couldn't let Sam see that. It seemed like an eternity before his youngest son finally had the door open and entered the living room, totally oblivious to what had happened only seconds before.

"Hey," Sam said with barely a glance at them through the doorway between the kitchen and where he stood, lugging his book bag in. If John didn't think it was good endurance training, he would have complained about how many fucking books they expected these kids to haul around like pack animals.

"Hey Sammy," he and Dean said in near unison. Sam just began dragging the bag across the room toward the coffee table.

"It's the weekend Sammy," John heard himself say.

"Yeah," the boy said without much enthusiasm.

"You still wanna spend it at Pastor Jim's?"

Sam had claimed that he wanted to look through the new books the pastor had told him would be coming during his last visit, but John knew that he just wanted to get away. Since he hadn't allowed Sam to stay while Dean was detoxing and Dean was often off at meetings he wouldn't tell his brother about, not to mention more hunting with John, the younger boy had become more withdrawn. John tried not to think of why that fit his needs right now. He never liked the idea of trying to get his boys out of the way. It always made him feel guilty, like he didn't deserve to have them at all. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, burning his skin.

"You changed your mind," Sam asked, a little too hopefully. Even though he was doing this to get the boy out of the suite for a few days, that hopefulness felt like a dagger in John's chest.

"Yeah. If you still wanna go."

"I can drive you," Dean blurted out. "Dad can't, but I just told him that I could. So…"

"Alright. Are you two okay?" Sam was paying attention to them now, squinting suspiciously at them through his bangs.

"We're fine, geek. Go pack your bag. I wanna get back before it gets too late."

"You got a date or somethin'?"

Dean smirked and waggled his eyebrows luridly. "Or somethin'."

They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen waiting for Sam to pack, John gripping the edge of the counter like that was the only thing keeping him that far away from his son. Maybe it was.

"You're not supposed to start new relationships while you're in recovery," he pointed out

"You think this is new? This has been goin' on since I was sixteen, maybe before. I just thought it was all in my head."

"Is that why… is that why you started walkin' around half dressed?" John frowned at the boy, horrified. That had been the summer after he turned sixteen, before he'd stopped going to school.

Dean blushed. "Yeah. And you were lookin'." The boy smirked. "You did a good job of actin' like you weren't, but you _were_."

It was John's turn to blush. He told himself that the boy was just being himself, that he was just comfortable with his own body. It never occurred to him that Dean might be trying to _seduce_ him. "I shouldn't've."

"But you did. I'm done feelin' ashamed of what I want, of who I am. I'm finally figuring out how to be sober after damn near a year of bein' dry. Am I supposed to be a monk? Am I supposed to pretend that I'm not who I am?"

"And what are you, Dean?"

"More to you than your son. Just like you're more to me than my father."

John couldn't argue. He knew it was true. Had known if for a long time. It had been years since he'd thought of Dean solely as his son. "I could've taken him," he finally said

"'S fine. Besides, I think I'd go crazy waitin' on you to go back."

"Oh, so it's okay for me to go crazy?"

Dean looked a little startled. "Oh. Well, you can come with us."

"No. It's fine. Besides I…" _I don't wanna get caught a block away from Jim's place makin' out with my kid by the side of the road_. John swallowed thickly. "There are things I need to take care of here."

"Yeah. Okay. I won't be long."

Sam came back out with his duffle before John could think of anything to say.

"I'm ready."

"Okay, geek. Go on to the car. I've got your book bag."

Sam didn't need to be told twice. He was out the door almost before Dean finished.

"Drive careful," was all John could think to say.

Dean frowned, shifted his weight. "You don't have to do this… I mean… I kinda guilted you into it."

John fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them to his son. "If you're gonna be back before midnight, you'd better leave now."

Dean gripped the keys tightly. "Yes, sir." He glanced around to make sure Sam hadn't come back inside before pulling John's head down for a quick kiss.

He watched his son walk away. After that, he vacillated between what he should do when Dean got back. Twice, he almost left. He couldn't do that. He knew he couldn't do that. Whatever happened or didn't happen when Dean came home, he had to be here. They had to discuss it. And if they did have sex… he had to be in it for the long haul, until Dean decided it wasn't what he wanted anymore.

He should say no. He should tell Dean that there was nothing wrong with him, but he couldn't have a sexual relationship with his own father. He needed to find someone he could have a family with, a future with. If he was with John… they'd have to hide. Hide what they were to each other from everyone who already knew they were father and son. Hide that they were father and son from anyone who figured out they were lovers. After all, Dean deserved someone he could be with in public at least once in a while.

He paced for at least an hour and then decided to try to do something productive with his nervous energy. He went to his bedroom. It wasn't messy, he was never really messy, but it had been neater. He pulled the sheets off the bed and threw them in the wash and straightened up the room. Put the sheets in the dryer and started dusting random shit. He finally made himself stop after he remade his bed.

He sat on the couch and flipped through the channels. What was he doing? Dean was his _son_. He'd held him in his arms the day he was born, changed his diapers, fed him, burped him. Raised him. What the fuck was he doing? He sat up and bent forward, trying to control his breathing before he hyperventilated. Mary would be ashamed of him. Would probably have killed him if she'd known what he'd end up doing.

"_But you did. I'm done feelin' ashamed of what I want, of who I am. I'm finally figuring out how to be sober after damn near a year of bein' dry. Am I supposed to be a monk? Am I supposed to pretend that I'm not who I am?"_

He closed his eyes as he remembered his son's words and took a deep breath. If he was crazy, Dean was obviously too. How they got here, exactly how John had managed to screw them both up this badly, wasn't the point anymore. They _were_ here. John was a realist. He wanted Dean, Dean wanted him. They both knew it was wrong, had both struggled with it for years and weren't any closer to getting over it then they started. John could say no and they could keep struggling to make their lives work… or they could try this. It was crazy, definitely. But sometimes crazy worked.

"That's it," he sighed out. "I'm goin' to Hell."

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

_Last Week…_

"You're not gonna tell me what happened, are you?" Sam finally said after studying his brother from across the living room. They'd been watching a football game and it was halftime.

"No," Dean said flatly.

"It's just like when I was kid all over again." Dean frowned at him. "When you were sick and Dad kept sendin' me away. He even made me stay with Caleb for a couple days."

Dean huffed out a breath. "Dad was just keepin' a promise to me, Sammy. He said he wouldn't tell you unless you had to know. You never did, so…"

Sam frowned. "How… how bad was it?"

"Bad, but probably not the way you think. I'm an addict, Sam."

He huffed out a breath, feeling like he'd just been punched in the gut. "You… you use drugs?" Dean was an addict?

"Used to. I fucked up so bad, I can't even tell you. I stole 4K worth of drugs from a dealer."

"You're shittin' me?"

"Wish I were. Remember when I got jumped in that bathroom? That was the dealer I stole from. So, that's what was goin' on. I just never wanted to have to see that look on your face. It was bad enough to see it on Dad's. I didn't mean to make you feel left out."

"So, you got clean? Back then?"

"Yeah. Kept expectin' Dad to kick my stupid ass out."

"Dad would never do that."

"I know that now. But then… God, when I think about all the stupid shit I pulled. It's amazing I survived at all. And Dad… he just trusted me so much. I coulda told him the sky was orange and he woulda thought a tornado was comin'. After he found out about the drugs seemed like he was findin' out about somethin' else every five minutes."

"Like what?"

"Like… I hadn't been to school since tenth grade."

"But… you graduated, didn't you? You were in the twelfth grade when you got… sick."

"No, Sammy. I wasn't. I never went back for my junior year. Dad flipped when he found out."

"How… how could he not know?"

"Same way thousands of parents don't know what the hell their kids are really up to. They just assume they're doin' the right thing. It hurt him, to realize that he couldn't trust me. God, it took me so long to get that back. I worked so hard at it."

"Those meetings you were goin' to…"

"NA. I need to find one nearby."

"Shouldn't be too hard. This is a college town in California."

Dean snorted softly. "Yeah."

"Were you… when you got here… the shaking…"

"Someone spiked my coffee, Sam. I…" he looked away. "I should've been more careful."

"Someone… Did you call the cops?"

Dean laughed. "Dude. Since when do we call the cops for anything?"

"Then, what did you do?"

"I got away. I detoxed. Now I'm gonna go to NA. Probably do a freaking cleanse and hope the cravings don't kick my ass for too long this time."

Something about his brother's story didn't feel right once the shock of hearing it wore off. "Why would someone spike your coffee?"

Dean snorted. "Second guessin' me, Sammy?" Sam felt his face heat. "That's good. Addicts lie, dude. Trust but verify."

"That's not an answer."

"You're gonna try to get the whole story outta me anyway you can, aren't you?"

"You're the one who said 'trust but verify'."

Dean sighed. "I've been waitin' all your life for you to stop bein' such a pest. I'm just startin' to realize it ain't ever gonna happen. Fine. The drug dealer I stole from? We ran into each other again. All I know is I was at a diner finishing up breakfast, sober as a freakin' judge and the next thing I know, I'm high as a kite and _he's_ there. Draw your own conclusions."

"So… he was tryin' to settle the score with you."

His brother winced. "Somethin' like that."

"That's why you were all banged up."

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "Dude… college wasn't wasted on you, was it?"

"Dean… did… that time at the gas station, when you got all beat to hell by those three guys…" He shuddered at the memory. He had been sure they would kill Dean by the time their father made it to the bathroom. Dean had been so bruised and cut up afterwards, and there had been so much blood. Their father had spent over an hour patching him up, stitching up the larger cuts and using butterfly bandages on the smaller ones while Sam packed Dean's clothes. His big brother had to ride in the back seat when they left, bags of ice nearly burying him. Sam couldn't remember being so afraid before. It had taken weeks for the bruises and swelling to go away completely. "He wants you dead, doesn't he?"

"Yeah. Dad stopped him then. I managed it on my own this time around."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. "So how'd you get away?"

"Luck. And a father who used to tie us up and leave us to see if we could figure out how to get outta the ropes."

"What else did the drug dealer do to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You take a lot of showers Dean," Sam said, looking down at his beer.

"Sweat a lot while you're detoxing, Sammy. Feels freakin' disgusting. Get a lotta muscle cramps too. The hot water helps."

Sam wasn't sure if he believed that or not. He wasn't sure of much of anything. He couldn't imagine anyone raping Dean. But then, he couldn't imagine Dean taking drugs. Or being stupid enough to steal from a dealer. Or not going to school for two years and hiding it from their father. What was that Dean had said again? Trust but verify.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Paint it Black 6/9  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 3425  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Drug abuse, Sexual abuse, Violence

**Summary:** Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

_**A/N:**__ Yay! It's finally being beta'ed! Thanks to __wickedlilwitch__, who finally recuperated from Unrelated. If there are mistakes, blame her. J/k. Any mistakes are my fault as always._

**Chapter Six**

_Three Days Ago…_

Sam felt completely out of his element. The woman had recognized Dean on the street and after a second of squinting at her, he seemed to recognize her too. She'd wanted money, but Dean offered to feed her at a nearby diner. Her hair was a dull pale brown, uneven and shot through with white. She was hollow cheeked and emaciated. About a third of her teeth were missing. She looked about 60. And she was obviously a junkie. Sam wondered if this was someone his brother had known when he was using, if she was someone he used to get high with.

He sat next to his brother, across from the woman, hunched over and listening to their conversation. He wanted to understand this side of his brother that he'd never known existed. There was so much he didn't know about Dean.

"I really appreciate this, Dean," the woman said after she finished shoveling the food in like she hadn't eaten in years. Dean ordered her a huge dinner and a slice of pie.

"No problem, Becca. When's the last time you ate?"

She gave a vague shrug and tried to smooth down her brittle hair with twitchy, claw like hands. Her fingernails were raged and filthy. "It's hard tryin' to scrap together enough to stay fed, you know?"

Dean nodded like he did.

"You, uh, you got a little to spare? I just need to get myself right."

"Not givin' you money for drugs, Becca."

She frowned at him. "You one of those self-righteous bastards now, Dean? Tryin' to save me from myself?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm not gonna help you kill yourself. I'll give you food. I'll order you some take out that you can eat later. Even buy you some canned food for tomorrow and the next day. But I ain't gonna give you money."

"I'm already startin' withdrawals."

"Yeah, I been there. I know how bad it hurts. There are places you can go that'll help you get off."

"Tried that. Didn't stick."

"Don't you have somethin'… some_one_ to live for? Someone worth fightin' for?"

She looked down at the table. "Everyone I love is better off without me."

"You sure about that? Cause I think you're dead wrong."

She huffed out a laugh. "I gotta… I gotta go."

"Wait!" He put a hand over hers before she could slide out of the booth. "Can I give you my number?"

"What for?"

"If you change your mind, about the people you love, call me."

"Dean…"

"No. Promise me you'll keep it. Just in case. And you'll call me when you're ready to get clean."

She blinked at him for a second and then nodded. He wrote his number down on a napkin and she put it in her pocket before hurrying away.

"How do you know her?" Sam asked once she'd scurried away.

"She used to be my girlfriend."

"Dude… you got a mommy kink I don't know about?"

"God, no. She's only a year younger than me"

"She's… she's in her twenties?"

"Yeah." Dean rubbed his face. "Every time I see somebody that strung out… That coulda been me, man. If I'd lived this long. Fuck, Sam. That coulda been me."

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

Two days later, Dean was sitting on Sam's couch, his knee jiggled as he waited for John to show up and flipped through channels too fast to possibly know what was on any of them. His brother and father had talked the day before and decided that John would come to pick him up. Dean seemed to be suffering some serious anxiety. The closer they got to their father's ETA the worse it was.

"Dean… you don't have to go back," Sam said quietly.

"Really? What the hell 'm I gonna do instead?" Dean asked sarcastically, still flipping channels and jiggling. Sam desperately wanted to put his hand on his brother's knee and just make it stop. "Spend the next four years on your couch?"

"You could get a job and we could get a bigger place, with another bedroom."

"No Sam. This is _your_ life. Not mine."

"Dean-"

"Sam. 'M goin' back. It's where I belong."

Sam huffed out a breath. It was long past time for Dean to get out of their father's shadow and be his own person. Stand on his own two feet. It wasn't right that John didn't encourage him to do that, that he was perfectly happy to have Dean throw away his life all in the name of his vendetta. "But, Dean-"

"I have a son."

That was something Sam wasn't expecting. It completely threw him off kilter. He had a nephew that he knew nothing about? "What? Why didn't you tell me?"

Dean shrugged. "There's a lot I haven't told you. But, you're right. That's kinda big. I just… I couldn't talk about him before. When I came here, my entire frame of reference was fucked up."

"Frame of reference?" Sam repeated. That didn't sound like something he'd expect to hear his brother say.

"Yeah, Sam. Frame of reference. Need me to tell you what it means?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "For me to tell you about him, I'd have to tell you about more than I wanted to talk about, okay? Drugs fuck with your ability to deal with shit. Gettin' sober again was all I could handle at the time."

"That include Dad?"

"Yeah… but not for the reasons you think. Dad was… Dad was great. I never would've made it without him. I just… I was afraid of him bein' disappointed with me and I couldn't deal with that, you know? But it's time now."

"How'd you end up with a kid?" Sam asked. He didn't want to talk about his brother's over attachment to their father. And he was intrigued by the idea of Dean as a father.

"I knocked up a girl, Sammy," Dean said teasingly. "She was an addict too. He was born addicted and her mother got custody. The Mom was dying and she couldn't find the girl, but she found my number in her daughter's things. My name was on the birth certificate, so all I had to do was show up and… pick him up. Seems like it should be harder than that to become a parent. It took more effort for me to get my damn driver's license then to become responsible for another person." Dean snorted softly. "She named him Avery, dude. _Avery_."

"Where is he?"

"With Dad."

"Dad?" Sam knew that their father had raised them alone, but it was still hard for him to imagine the man taking care of a child.

"Yeah. Where else would he be? I been gone too long. Seein' Becca reminded me of some things."

"Like what?"

"Becca's the girl I knocked up. Avery already doesn't have a Mom… he needs me. Dad needs me too. And I need them."

"She… she doesn't know you have Avery, does she?"

Dean shook his head. "Doesn't even know I know about him."

"Maybe you should have told her."

"Yeah, cause all the kid needs in his life is a junkie. Kid's got enough strikes against him as it is.

"You can bring your son here."

"I'm not leavin' Dad, Sam."

"It's not your job to take care of him."

"No. But that doesn't mean I don't want to. Or that I want to get away from him. I don't. I'm just…"

"Just what?"

"Afraid he'll look at me different now."

"Dean… what happened to you?"

Dean stared down at his hands, his bottom lip trembling. He bit it for a second and breathed though his nose. "Don't make me say it, Sam," he finally said, his voice a ragged whisper. ""M not gonna lie to you anymore, okay? Just… _please_."

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

_Five Years Ago…_

It was dark when he heard Dean enter. He felt like he was in some sort of surreal daydream. Why couldn't Dean want something he didn't want to give him so badly? Then he could at least feel like he was being a good father… sacrificial and selfless. But instead… instead he felt like he was taking advantage of his boy. Again. Like his wanting Dean had somehow made Dean want him. He was about to say that maybe this was a bad idea when Dean tossed the keys on the table next to the door and turned to face him. The look on the boy's face froze the words in his mouth. Excited was the wrong word to use… but John could see how badly the boy wanted this. Just as badly as he did.

Dean crossed the room and stood close enough to him that John could feel the heat from his body. John didn't move. He needed Dean to make the first move… but his resolve wouldn't last long. Not with Dean standing this close and looking at him like that. Just when he thought he wouldn't be able to take it anymore, Dean slid his hands up his chest and cupped his face. The boy licked his lips and pulled John into a kiss.

Suddenly John couldn't remember why this was such a bad idea. The fact that he was kissing his son seemed almost insignificant next to the fact that he was kissing someone he loved. Dean opened up to him when he brushed his lower lip with his tongue and he swept it inside, tasting his boy.

John had only had sex with another man exactly once. A lifetime ago, in a forest in Nam. They were the only survivors in their section of the tree cover and they were… not celebrating exactly. Affirming was more like it. They were _affirming_ that they were alive, that they could still feel something other than fear. It was sloppy and rough and not something he thought he'd ever be doing again. He didn't want it to be like that with Dean.

He pulled away and searched Dean's face for any hint of discomfort. "Come on, baby. Let's go to my room. I even changed the sheets for you."

Dean snorted softly and pressed his forehead against John's shoulder. "Ooo… I feel so special," Dean murmured against his neck.

"You are. You know that, right?" John asked, feeling oddly solemn. He expected to feel more dirty and less earnest and… nervous about all this. He felt like he was about to make a serious commitment. It unnerved him, but he couldn't walk away from this now no matter how much he knew he should.

Dean looked up at him with honest, open eyes. He'd always loved the color of his son's eyes. They were heartbreakingly beautiful. "Yeah. I always knew that, Dad."

"Need you to show me what to do. Don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't…" Dean pulled away and looked him in the eye. "I, uh, need to get somethin' from my room and I'll be right in."

John entered his room and couldn't figure out what to do with himself while he waited for Dean. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. He closed the door behind himself, carrying a small tube and a handful of condoms. John raised his eyebrow at that.

"Kind of ambitious, don't you think?"

"People who don't have goals never accomplish anything," the boy said, repeating one of John's favorite sayings.

John snorted and shook his head as he reached for the boy and pulled him into his arms. Dean was always using his own words against him. "Smart ass."

Dean kissed him. "'S my first time too, Dad. Never bottomed before. Only ever wanted to bottom for you."

The words hit him low in his gut. Dean _had_ known it was him, or at least been hallucinating about him, that night. There was no doubt about that now. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Dean's. "Maybe you should top, then."

"You'd do that? Bottom for me?"

He opened his eyes to see Dean looking at him in wonder. "Yeah. I just wanna be with you. Don't matter how."

Dean's smile was slightly shy. "Maybe later. Tonight… every time I think about being with you, you top. I want that tonight."

"Whatever you want," John said, kissing his son. "However you want it."

"I'm gonna remind you that you said that later."

He chuckled. He didn't doubt those words would be used against him too. "There's somethin' I need to tell you first. I been harpin' on you bein' honest with me… I need to be honest with you."

Dean frowned at him. "Yeah?"

"That night… when you finally fell asleep after detoxin'. You didn't have a wet dream."

Dean smirked. "I know. Figured it out when you kissed me in the kitchen. I knew your lips, the feel of your hands," his voice was a rumbling purr.

"You _knew_? I practically molested you while you were hallucinating."

"Wasn't _hallucinating_. Just thought it was a dream when I woke up and you acted like nothin' happened. I wanted it… I was just too damn sleep deprived to remember that I wasn't supposed to ask for it. If anything, I molested you. You're the one that kept sayin' no." Dean kissed him softly. "But your dick was sayin' yes." Dean licked at his bottom lip.

"But-"

Dean put his fingers over John's mouth. "You talk too much sometimes, Dad." He pulled away and dropped the condoms and lube on the night stand. Then he began unbuttoning his shirt, his hot eyes on John the entire time. John started undressing too, his eyes greedily taking in every inch of skin Dean exposed.

They studied each other for several seconds after they were both naked. Dean was perfect, the downy blond hair covering his body almost invisible. His cock was half hard, bobbing up from a thatch of slightly darker hair. The boy moved closer and their cocks bumped against each other, bringing moans from them both, and they began to map each other's bodies with their fingers. Dean kissed his jaw, and then licked at it, before pressing more open mouthed kisses to his neck. John let out a strangled groan and pulled Dean's head back to take his mouth in a bruising kiss. Dean made a muffled noise against his lips and melted against him. Their groins pressed together and John palmed the boy's ass to bring them closer. He felt moisture from their precum smearing against his stomach.

Dean tore his lips away with a wet sucking sound and went to his knees. John realized what he was going to do an instant before calloused fingers closed around his dick and his legs nearly gave out. He barely regained enough composure to remain standing when the boy swallowed his dick whole.

"Shit… Dean…"

Dean moaned around his dick. If it hadn't been for the boy's firm grip around the base, he would have cum then and there. As it was, he was barely coherent as his son gave him the best blowjob he'd ever had. It wasn't long before John knew he couldn't take much more. He'd cum in the boy's mouth later, but not this time. He pulled him off his cock. The boy made a discontented noise and looked up at him. Fuck, he looked so damn debauched. Spit and precum dripping off his chin, lips swollen and wet, pupils blown wide, hair mussed.

John swore and pulled him to his feet so he could kiss him. He moaned at the taste of himself on Dean's mouth. He pushed Dean back, smirked down at the boy when he fell on the bed and then crawled in after him. He manhandled the boy into the position he wanted him in, spread out on the bed, and laid down next to him, wrapping his hand around the boy's hard cock.

It was odd, curling his fist around a cock that wasn't his. Odd but perfect. Everything about this, about Dean, was perfect. "Love the way your cock feels in my hand," he said as he gave it an experimental stroke.

Dean huffed out a breath. "Feels pretty good from my end too."

John watched Dean's face as he stroked him, learning from his reactions how he liked to be touched. He was entranced by how _visceral_ the boy was. How he reacted without a shred of self-consciousness. He was beautiful like this.

"Dad… Dad, please. Need you inside."

"Okay, baby. Show me what to do."

Dean leaned over to retrieve the lube and handed it to John. "Use your fingers. One at a time."

John knelt between Dean's legs and flipped open the cap on the lube. He felt a slight sense of unreality. This couldn't actually be happening. He'd wake up tomorrow, hard and needing a cold shower, alone in his bed. But when he pressed a slick finger to Dean's hole, he couldn't imagine how it couldn't be real. His son moaned and pushed against the finger until it finally slid inside. _Fuck_, he was tight. John couldn't imagine how he was going to get his entire cock in there no matter how much lube he used. But it was that tightness, and the heat inside the boy's body, that made the idea of being inside him irresistible.

"More, Daddy," Dean gasped out once John's single finger was moving easily in and out of him. "'Nother finger. Got such nice big, strong hands. Always wanted your fingers in me like this."

Hearing the boy call him Daddy like that, while they were doing this, made him groan. That was a button he didn't even know was there. He pressed a second finger inside his son. He leaned forward and kissed the boy.

"Spread 'em… stretch me out." John did as Dean instructed. The boy hissed. "Fuuuck… yeah. Like that."

John had three fingers in his boy and was learning the virtues of the prostate gland when Dean picked up one of the condoms and ripped it open with his teeth.

"Now, Daddy… please. Gotta… gotta have you in me." The boy quickly rolled the condom on John's dick.

"Yeah," John breathed out, enjoying the feel of Dean's hands on him. When the boy was done, he shuffled forward and pressed the head of his cock against the boy's slick opening. It took all his self-control to go slowly, to use just enough force to give Dean time to adjust as he pressed inside. The boy was staring up at him, his mouth open in an 'o', not making a sound. He paused, afraid that he was hurting his boy. "You okay?"

Dean nodded frantically. "Don't… don't stop. Fuck, I'm good. Just keep… keep goin'." His voice sounded like ground glass.

John kept going until he was as deep as he could go. "Fuck… you feel so damn _good_, baby." He leaned forward and kissed his boy again. He felt Dean's legs wrap around his waist and before too long the boy was trying to fuck himself on his cock. He rocked his hips experimentally once, and then again. It wasn't long before he'd found a deep steady rhythm. Despite his efforts to go slowly, he was fucking into his son harder and faster until he was pounding into his boy. Dean was meeting each thrust, gripping John's shoulders tightly enough to leave bruises.

John was lost. Lost in Dean, in the way he felt, the way he smelled, the way he looked, the way he sounded. There was nothing in the whole world but this. His orgasm took him by surprise. It hit him like a freight train, curved his spine and locked his muscles. Once he could see and hear again, he was lying on top of Dean, who was panting like he'd run a five minute mile. He lifted himself up to make sure Dean had gotten off to and saw that he had. He barely had enough energy to turn over.

John pulled Dean into his arms and held him, kissed the boy's temple. This was the first time since Mary had died that he'd had sex with someone he loved this deeply and for some reason it didn't seem to matter nearly as much as it should have that it was his own son. Dean turned his face up and John kissed his lips. Dean opened up for it, let John explore with his tongue. The boy melted against him.

Dean kissed his jaw just beneath his ear. "You know, we're gonna be pretty damn gross in the mornin'."

John snorted softly. "Yeah. Still not gettin' up."


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Paint it Black 7/9  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 3330  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Drug abuse, Sexual abuse, Violence

**Summary:** Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

_**A/N:**__ This has not been beta'd. If I made any really bad mistakes (or just did something that annoys you) let me know._

**Chapter Seven**

_One Year Ago…_

Dean was nervous. John could see that. There was a time when seeing his boy this nervous would have tied his stomach into knots, had him wondering what fresh can of worms was going to be opened now. But that seemed like a life time ago. They didn't keep secrets from each other anymore. John had even told him everything he knew about the demon. Dean wanted him to tell Sam, but agreed that it would likely lead to the boy blaming himself for their mother's death. And there was still so much that John didn't know. Whether to tell Sam was one of the few sources of conflict in their relationship.

It had been a hard thing to get used to, telling each other everything including the ugly things they would normally pretend didn't exist. Especially after Sam left. That had been a dark period for both of them and for the first time John had started to doubt if they'd actually work out. They managed to get through it the same way they got through everything; together.

Now things were good between them, better then they'd ever been other than missing Sam. Sometimes he wondered if they could have gotten to this place if Sam had stayed. How could they have explained it to him in a way that he'd have understood? That wouldn't have had him running screaming in the other direction?

But wondering about that wouldn't change the way things were. The plain truth was that Sam was gone, leaving a huge gaping hole in their lives. They checked up on him, practically stalked him, whenever they could. And when they couldn't, they found ways to negotiate that hole, filling the rest of their lives with something that felt a lot like happiness. Hunting together, hustling together, sleeping together… sometimes even working together.

That first weekend they had sex, they'd barely gotten any sleep. By Sunday, they were so tired and sore that they both had to go pick up Sam to keep each other awake. When Dean crawled back into his bed after dropping Sam off at school the next day, John was finally able to get some sleep. Not even the bruises he'd left on his boy in the shape of his fingers or the sweet curve of his son's ass pressed against his half hard cock could rouse him. They didn't have times like that often afterwards. Usually Dean would sneak into his bed in the middle of the night, or they'd fuck when John took the boy with on hunts. Or when Sam was at school and John and Dean didn't both have a job or a solo hunt. So, they rarely had time to be together.

The night Sam left Dean moved into John's bedroom and from then on the two always shared a bed. Their relationship was a strange hybrid of father/son and lovers. But it worked for them. They were both happy despite how badly they missed Sam and how much they worried about him and the Yellow Eyed Demon's plans for him. John shared everything with his son, things he never thought he'd share with anyone. Dean was sane again, sober in all its painful, messy, brutal glory. He still worked the program, still went to weekly or at least bi weekly meetings. John was proud of the man he'd become.

John's sense that something was wrong was heightened by the fact that the boy made his favorite dinner, served with his favorite beer. But he was patient and let Dean tell him in his own way, at his own pace. Something he never would have been able to do four years earlier. They washed the dishes together after dinner. He took Dean's silence for what it was – the boy was just trying to work up his courage to tell him something he didn't think he'd like. He wasn't really hiding. So when they went to bed, John tried to reassure him the best way he knew how. They were still much better with actions than words.

"I got somethin' I need to tell you, Dad," Dean said as they lay in bed curled around each other.

"Yeah?" John coaxed gently, his fingers buried in soft hair.

"I got a call today from the mother of an ex-girlfriend. You remember that girl I told you I gave the rest of the Oxy I stole?"

John frowned into the darkness. A call from the mother of an ex-girlfriend couldn't be good. He fought to keep his voice even, calm. "I remember."

"Turns out that's not all I gave her." John was silent for a long while, waiting him out. "She… she had a kid. I'm on the birth certificate."

"A kid?" John repeated. He couldn't keep the shock out of his voice and Dean pulled away to look at his face.

Dean swallowed. "Yeah. A son. His name is Avery and he's three. Timin's right, if it happened right before you found out I was usin'."

"Why…" he trailed off and ran a hand down his face. "Why is she just now callin'?"

"She has cancer. Stage four. It doesn't look good. Becca, that's my ex's name, is MIA. Has been since the kid was born. She… she left him in the hospital, Dad. He was born addicted. Her mom was afraid that I was still strung out too, but she was desperate. They don't have any family who can take the kid."

A son… Dean had a son. He had a grandson. What the fuck where they gonna do with a three year old? But he was their blood. "They're still in California?"

"Yeah."

"Then we leave at first light. In the meantime, you got some decisions to make, baby boy."

"Like what?"

"Do we really wanna pull an innocent kid into our lives? You know the Yellow Eyed Demon is after Sam. What if he uses your son against us? What if he comes after us and the kid gets caught in the cross fire?"

"He's my _son_," Dean said with a ferocity that John could relate to. There was no decision to be made. Not even pointing out that it was possible that the kid wasn't his would likely change the outcome. "I think he's gonna be a target whether we leave him where he is or not. We have to protect him."

"And you know what the best way to do that is. You don't know what it's like to put a gun in your son's hands. I don't want you to ever know what the feels like." He still remembers how he'd felt when he put a gun in Dean's hands. That memory wasn't any less bitter with age.

"Maybe he'll be better than me."

"Better than you? How can he be better than nailing every target I ever put in front of you? I'd pay to see that."

"So… you weren't… you weren't disappointed?"

He blinked up at his son, saw the look on his face. He'd thought nothing could make that memory worse… but that look on his boy's face did it. "No. God, Dean. I'm… I'm such an asshole. I was disgusted with myself. It made me sick to see you with a gun in your hands. I didn't mean… dammit. I should've told you how good you were. I should've…"

Dean pressed his face against John's neck and snorted out a laugh. "Yeah. But that was sixteen years ago. Avery needs me, needs us. It's not a secret that he's my son, all it takes is for the wrong person or thing to find out. We'll teach him how to be safe, even if it hurts to do it. And we'll tell him that he's done a good job."

John held the boy close, let the tightness in his chest loosen a little. "Sounds like a plan."

They ended up starting their trip a few hours later when they realized that there would be no sleeping that night. Dawn saw them crossing the California state line and they made it to Becca's house a few hours later. It was a nice, middle class house. He wondered what made him luckier than the woman inside, why he was able to pull his son back from the brink while she had to watch her daughter plummet over the edge.

"Did you love her?" his asked Dean as they made their way up the walk.

"Only thing I loved back then was the drugs. I'm not… I'm not even sure who either of us would've been without them. She was gorgeous, though. Long dark red hair," he said with a nostalgic smirk. "Tight little body. God, I hope she hasn't killed herself out there."

John hung back and Dean knocked on the front door. A gaunt, tired looking woman answered. There was a small boy behind her, staring up at them from behind her leg with big blue eyes. John heard his son draw in a sharp breath and he knew why. Those were Mary's eyes. The boy had his wife's eyes and his son's face.

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

_Yesterday…_

Avery was dead to the world when they parked at Sam's apartment complex. John sighed. The boy was small for five, but he was solid. He looked so much like Dean, only with strawberry blond hair and more freckles. He scooped the boy up after trying unsuccessfully to wake him, feeling every year of his age. He grabbed Dean and Avery's bags with his free hand and kicked the door closed. He'd come back for his own things. Provided that he and Sam didn't get into some sort of pissing match that made him staying in the apartment impossible.

When he got to Sam's door, he realized he didn't have a free hand to knock with. He kicked the door with the toe of his boot. After a second, Sam answered the door, blinking at him owlishly.

John smiled, happy to see his youngest face to face again. "Hey, Sammy."

"Dad… you have Avery, right?"

"Yeah. This is your nephew. You mind grabbin' somethin'?"

"Uhm, sure." Sam looked from the kid to the bags and back again before deciding on the bags.

Avery whimpered a little, and John absently rubbed his back to soothe him. "You look good, son. Taller."

"Hey, Dad." John looked past Sam to see Dean standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking awkward and afraid in a way that he hadn't since he was eighteen.

"Dean. Damn, boy, it's good to see you in one piece."

"'M sorry, Dad. I didn't… I tried…"

"It's okay," John ached to pull his boy into his arms and hold on tight. Dean looked so small and fragile for the first time in so many years. All he wanted to do was make this better, but he knew he couldn't. There was no easy fix for this. "You got away. You even managed to finish the hunt. But even if you hadn't… I'm glad you saved yourself. By the time I got there, it might've been too late."

"You went there?"

"Of course I did. When you didn't check in and didn't answer your phone, I packed up and only stopped to drop the kid off at Bobby's. When I saw the car and all your stuff at the graveyard… scared the shit outta me, Dean. Back tracked your steps and finally figured maybe you came here since you were so close. "

"'M sorry, Dad. I… I wasn't thinkin'."

"Yeah, I know. I know everything Dean."

"Every… everything?"

John turned to Sam. "You got somewhere I can lay this boy? He's gettin' heavier by the second."

"Yeah… you can put him on the couch. Or in my bed if you think he'll roll off."

"The couch's fine." John carried the boy into the living room and laid him down. Dean sat down next to him on the edge of the couch and pushed back the boy's short hair.

"He's been okay?"

"He missed you," John said, biting back the now familiar pet name he used for Dean. Sam would probably think him calling Dean 'baby boy' was strange. And that was probably putting it mildly. "But other than that he's been fine. His new favorite flavor is peach, by the way."

Dean chuckled. "What happened to strawberry?"

"It's apparently still okay, but not as cool as peach. Peach pie, peach cobbler, peach soda, peach ice cream. Peaches cut up in his oatmeal or Wheaties. Oh, how could I forget peach marmalade and peanut butter sandwiches?"

"He looks like he grew a little."

"Probably. He's at the age where they grow pretty much all the time. Always more noticeable when you go a little while without sein' 'em."

Sam cleared his throat. "I, uh, I got class. But you'll all be here when I get back, right?"

"Yeah, Sammy," his father said. "We'll still be here.

Dean was sat staring at his son for a long while after Sam left, and John sat staring at him. He wanted to touch him. "So," Dean finally said into the unnatural quiet without looking away from the boy, "you said you knew everything."

"Yeah. I found the waitress who spiked your coffee."

The boy sighed and seemed at least ten years older than he was. "So it _was_ the coffee. I thought that shit was extra bitter. At the time I just figured it'd been on the burner a little too long."

"I was showin' your picture around town. She didn't come clean right away, but she looked like she knew somethin' so followed her after she left the dinner. She lead me straight to that ass wipe Sugar's place. He told me everything."

Dean dropped his head. "Jesus. I'm sorry, Dad."

"Will you stop apologizin'? You were drugged and…" John couldn't say it. "He hurt you. I promised I wouldn't let him hurt you."

"That was _six years_ ago. Neither of us thought that bastard was a problem anymore."

"Did you… did you get yourself checked out? After?"

Dean blushed and nodded. "The day after I got here. While Sam was in class. I'm supposed to go back for… for results."

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"Dean…"

"I know, okay? I just… I know how to change my own bandages and what's a couple of days gonna do to test results?"

"Bandages?"

"Dad…"

"Let me see."

Dean pulled up his shirt to reveal four bandages over his stomach. John reached out to peel back the corner of one but stopped just before he did. He looked up at Dean as if asking permission. His son gave him a jerky nod. He peeled back the corner to reveal a small, round burn.

"Jesus, Dean. Is that… is that a cigarette burn?"

"Yeah."

"Sugar did this?"

"No."

"Who?" John demanded.

"One of his guys. I think I broke his nose the first time I tried to get away."

John gently replaced the bandage. He felt sick to his stomach. "I should have killed the son of a bitch and all his 'guys'."

"What did you do to him?"

"I… I gave him a taste of his own medicine."

"You…" Dean blinked at him, not comprehending what he was saying.

"I drugged him and tied him to… to that bed…" John stopped and cleared his throat.

Dean's face crumbled and John pulled him close with one hand behind his head. "Hurts. Hurts so fuckin' bad, Dad. I don't wanna be alive. I wanna be _numb_."

John nodded. "Yeah. Numb is kinda attractive right now. I'm so proud of you for not goin' down that road. For stayin' sober."

"Got too much to lose if I go back there," he said just loud enough for John to hear, hot breath sending shivers down his spine.

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

Sam came home from class to find his father watching Dean and Avery sleeping on the couch from the breakfast bar. He went to the fridge and pulled out two beers. Silently, he handed his father one and sat down next to him. They sat in silence for several minutes drinking.

"So," Sam finally said, "you gonna raise Avery to hunt?"

His father looked at him in what he swore was amusement. "Avery is _Dean's_ son. You'll have to ask him about that."

Sam snorted softly. "Like Dean would ever do anything you didn't want him to."

"So you think I wanted him to use drugs? Have unprotected sex with his equally drug addicted girlfriend and knock her up?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. Sam… Do we have to do this?"

"I just want Dean to have a life of his own."

"He does have a life of his own. Just 'cause it's one that you don't approve of, doesn't make it a bad one. You're brother's been happy."

"I just want him to be _safe_."

"So do I. I know you don't get it now, but the only reason I taught you two how to hunt was because I wanted you to be safe. I believed, I still believe, that if you know dangers exist it's damn negligent not to teach your children how to protect themselves."

"Like that time you gave me a .45 when I told you there was something in my closet?"

"Exactly! I didn't see anything in there. But what if there was? What was I supposed to do? Leave you defenseless? At worst, if the shot didn't kill the thing it would have woke me up and had me come running. What was the alternative, Sam? Knowing what I knew, that there were monsters that liked to eat children? Keep you in my bed? Make you totally dependent on me for your survival? What about when you grew up, or when somethin' happened to me?"

"All I wanted was… I dunno, to know you gave a shit, Dad."

"That's what I was doin', Sammy. The best way I knew how. I'm the first to admit that I probably could have done better by you. But the mistakes I made… they weren't because I didn't love you. Look, son, can't we just… I dunno… call a truce? I mean, it's a little late to trade each other in for new models. Besides, I got kinda attached to you."

Sam sighed out a breath. John was right, he knew he was right. None of them were likely to change… but that included him and his tendency to try to change his family. That wasn't true, though was it? Because his father had changed. It started after Dean got 'sick'. John had been more open, more flexible. He didn't let up on the hunting and constant moving, though, and that had been what finally drove Sam to leave. But his father hadn't stopped changing. He could see it in his reactions, in the way he held his temper in check. If John could change, then maybe Sam could too. "I'll try."

John nodded. "That's all I can ask. I just want my son back. If that means it's on your terms that's fine. I want you to be able to call me or your brother if you need us, if anything… if anything happens."

"Nothin's gonna happen, Dad."

John sighed. "Is it okay if I etch some protections around here? I swear it'll be where no one will notice. Just to ease my mind."

"Dad…"

"You think parents ever stop worrying about their kids, Sammy? I lose sleep over all the things that could happen to you. I just want you to be safe. That's all I've ever wanted. I wouldn't survive it if anything ever happened to you."

He frowned at his father. Talk about changing. "Okay, who the hell are you and what have you done with my father?"

The older man chuckled. "Some things I can change, can do somethin' about. Others…" he shrugged. "But dealing with your brother's addiction taught me to be honest about shit I would've bitten my own tongue off then actually say out loud before. The plain truth is you and your brother are my entire life."


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** Paint it Black 8/9  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 4230  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Drug abuse, Sexual abuse, Violence

**Summary:** Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

_**A/N:**__ This has not been beta'd. If I made any really bad mistakes (or just did something that annoys you) let me know._

**Chapter Eight**

_Three Days Ago…_

There were a lot of reasons for Sugar's nickname. The first, obviously, was that he sold 'candy', drugs that were in high demand among teenaged users. The second was that he had a nice little shop of desperate young sluts, mostly female but there were a few pretty boys, who were willing to endure just about anything a john could dish out just to keep the flow of drugs coming.

Of course there was also the fact that he had some 'sugar in his tank'. It was no secret that he enjoyed breaking in his boys far more then breaking in the girls. So when he saw Dean... Fuck, that boy was pretty with his big green eyes, freckles and cock sucking lips. He even looked younger than he was, young and innocent. Johns ate that kind of thing up with a spoon. One weekend, when the kid had shown up with his girlfriend all tied into knots over something but a little short of the cash he needed to get himself right, Sugar had laughed when he said he was 'good for it'. If he had a dollar for every time he heard that one. He took the boy out back and explained to him how things were. It was obvious that the prissy little bitch thought he was too good to give a little head to get what he needed. In the end, Sugar got what he wanted, and he was pleased to realize that the boy was no stranger to having a cock in his mouth.

After that, he became determined to add Dean to his candy shop. He'd bring in a lot of money before he was all used up. But he only got a couple more blow jobs out of the boy, and only when he was wound so tight that he probably would have done a lot worse to get his drugs.

When Dean came to him all desperate to buy 40 pills with a hand full of cash he'd done God only knew what to get, Sugar saw his chance. He offered him a bag filled with 100 pills, told the kid all he had to do was work for the weekend and they were all his. The kid had refused. Sugar said he wouldn't get another pill from him until he did as he was told. He thought the kid was desperate enough to be pushed into it… but the next thing he knew he was picking himself up off the floor feeling like a freight train had hit him to find the pills and the kid gone.

He'd thought it was a great stroke of luck when he saw him that day at the gas station. He hadn't been carrying, otherwise he'd have shot Dean's meddling father so he could finish beating the boy into submission. He still had plans for him. He'd stolen four thousand dollars' worth of drugs from him. He'd killed people for less. He was feeling merciful, though. All he wanted was to tie the boy to a bed and see how many trains he'd have to pull to earn it back. Plus interest.

But he hadn't had his gun and Dean had disappeared after that. Until two weeks ago when he'd walked into his diner. He looked different, sure. The years had given his features a hardness he hadn't had at eighteen. He was broader, more muscular. He'd grown into those ridiculous lips. He was also clean; Sugar could tell that just from watching him. After all these years, addiction would have long since destroyed his looks. But he still had the same short sandy hair and the same charming, contagious smile. He was still gorgeous even if he wasn't a sweet little twink anymore.

Sugar knew he'd have to come at the man sideways. Even that day in the bathroom, after having had his head smashed pretty good twice – once in the mirror and then again on the corner of the sink – and being kicked in the ribs, he'd still managed to fight three bigger, older boys off. He wouldn't have lasted long if his father hadn't come riding to the rescue, but still. He'd have done some damage during the take down.

He called the waitress over. Her name was Cheryl and she just happened to be one of his best customers. He offered her a day's free ride if she put a crushed oxy pill in Dean's coffee.

"Make sure it's dissolved," he told the stupid cow, digging his fingers into her arm hard enough to bruise after palming her the Oxy.

Then he just sat back and enjoyed the show. The alarm on the kid's face was clear, almost comical, when he realized that he was high. He stumbled out of the diner like he was desperate to get away and Sugar followed him, pushed him into a nearby alley.

Dean turned to face him as he stumbled deeper into the alley. He blinked and squinted at him and Sugar could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Sugar?" he slurred out.

"Good memory. Daddy's not here to save you today, is he?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fuck."

"Yeah. That's exactly what I'm gonna do to you. And then I'm gonna have a couple dozen customers come by and do the same thing. How many do you think it's gonna take for me to get back my 4k? Of course, there's the interest. Unfortunately, the more used you are the more the price drops. And you're not worth as much as you were when you were 18 anyway. How much do you think's gonna be left of you by the time I get my money back?"

Dean's eyes were wide and desperate. "I'll kill you."

"That's not how this is goin' down, Deano."

"Don't fuckin' call me that," he gritted out, sounding angry and leaning against the wall for support. "Only my Dad gets to call me that."

Sugar snorted out a laugh. "You're Dad ain't gonna be callin' you anything anymore."

That's when Dean rushed him, like a wild animal. If it hadn't been for the drugs, Sugar was sure he wouldn't have stood much of a chance. But Dean was uncoordinated and slow and Sugar easily put him down with a few well-placed punches. The kid was heavy, solid, but he managed to manhandle him into his trunk.

That had turned out to be a bad idea. One of his boys ended up with a broken nose getting Dean out of there. The kid managed to get the tire iron out of the wheel well. It took three more guys to subdue him and by the time they got him tied up, naked and spread eagle, to the bed in the spare room, he wasn't lookin' so pretty anymore.

Sugar was pissed. So pissed that he waited for Dean to begin sobering up before he started anything. He found Dean trembling and sweating.

"Want some Oxy, Dean."

"No thanks."

"You're gonna beg for it before I'm through." He pushed a dry finger inside Dean's hole. It offered only slight resistance. "I see you're getting' fucked regular. Nobody's gonna want you after this, Dean. Not unless they like used drug whores. Gonna fuck you dry, Dean. Only lube'll be your blood."

"You'll never get your money back you hurt me too bad," the kid pointed out. Sugar could barely hear the fear in his voice.

"You think this is about the money anymore?" he crooked his finger and twisted.

Dean grunted and trembled. He never did scream, but he did cry. He enjoyed that almost as much as how tight the kid was, and how he never stopped trembling. Sugar had given him to the guy who's nose he'd broken next. But somehow Dean got out of the ropes. There were five men in the house besides Sugar. Three of them were muscle. Dean had gone through them like a hot knife through butter. Sugar had ended up in the hospital with multiple contusions, four cracked ribs and 49 stitches.

That had been bad enough, but he came out of his back room a week later after he finally got out of the hospital to figure out what the commotion was to find Dean's father in his house, all the men guarding the house in crumpled heaps around him. The man didn't even look winded. Sugar knew he was in trouble. Everything Dean had done… he'd been in withdrawal after being fucked bloody twice. The father was even bigger and meaner looking. And from the looks of him completely uninjured.

"Hey, he's not here, I swear. I don't know where he is."

"But he was here? You brought him here."

"I got no beef with you or your kid."

"You gave him drugs."

"That's what I do, man! I'm a dealer!"

"You spiked his god damn coffee. What else did you do to him? _Where is my son_?"

"I don't know where he is!"

The man growled like an enraged bear and Sugar pissed himself. "You're gonna tell me what you did with him one way or the other."

"I just fucked 'im, okay? I was gonna make him work off the twenty grand… but he got away. I just wanted my 4k back, plus, you know, interest. And then there's inflation. If he'd just done what I wanted in the first place, none of this woulda happened."

"He got away?"

"Yeah. He put me in the hospital for three days. Look what he did to me! So… we're even, right? I fucked him over, he fucked me over."

He thought the man would leave then, but he didn't. He seemed to take extreme exception to the coffee spiking and the fucking, despite that his son had already beaten the shit out of him. He forced Sugar to show him where he'd tied Dean down. The man's face turned white.

"This my boy's blood," he asked. Sugar really should have had someone change the damn sheets.

"Uh… I dunno."

"You know what I think? I think you're lyin'." The man's voice was a dangerous growl. When he made Sugar strip down before tying him to the same bed, he thought the son of a bitch was going to rape him, but he just left him there. Once his boys came to, they'd let him go. This was humiliating, sure, but he could come back from this. That's when he felt a sharp pinch in his ass.

"The only reason I'm not gonna end you now is that I don't kill people," a deep gravelly voice said in his ear. Dean's father. Shit, he hadn't heard him come back inside the room. "Not even pathetic, worthless pieces of shit like you. But you ever come after my boy again? I'mma stop carin' and kill you slow and painful. Course, the shit in this syringe _might_ kill you anyway since I got no idea what the hell it is. Just found it layin' around." Then there was a rush of something cold under his skin as Dean's father pushed the plunger on the needle he'd stuck in Sugar's ass. It felt like someone was submerging him in an ice bath.

"Hope I didn't give you too much," the man said, his voice sounding a thousand miles away and getting further. "I'd hate it if you couldn't properly appreciate this."

Then there were hands all over him. "You sure this is free?" said a voice he vaguely recognized. Panic seized him as the realization that they didn't know it was him slowly seeped into his drug addled brain. Dean had done one hell of a number on his face. Not even his mother was likely to recognize him with all the bruising and swelling.

"Yeah," Dean's father said. "Sugar's orders. Don't got no lube around. Guess you'll just have to take 'im dry."

That's when he started screaming. Only he couldn't scream. Whatever the man had injected him with turned his screams into pitiful moans.

"Look at him… he's moanin' for it already."

That had been nearly a week ago. He woke up in the hospital with a torn intestinal tract. None of his people would look him in the eye and rumors were running rampant on the street. The truth was bad enough, but the shit people were coming up with was worse. He was finished here. He was going to have to relocate somewhere far away, and hope that this didn't follow him. And he never wanted to see Dean or his damn father again.

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

The thing about Dean was that he was affectionate. Not verbally, of course. The boy was still a Winchester and that meant he wasn't big on words. But he liked to touch and be touched. Liked sitting on the couch next to John with his head on his shoulder. Liked it when John rested a hand on his thigh while they were driving. Liked long, lazy make out sessions until they were both so wound up they couldn't think straight.

Now all that was gone and John felt like he was trying to live without oxygen. He was always angry. Always frustrated. He wanted to track Sugar down again and kill him for sure this time, slow and painful. He wanted to turn back time and prevent it from happening at all. He'd promised Dean that he wouldn't let anything happen to him. That he wouldn't let anyone hurt him.

It was good, though, to spend some time with his youngest son again. Made him wonder if things could ever be good between him and both his sons at the same time. Avery took to Sam, repeatedly pulling his leg. It was obvious that the boy had never spent any time around children, so Avery ruthlessly exploited his lack of knowledge. It was kind of entertaining to watch.

"You know my son has been completely taking advantage of you, right?" Dean finally said the day after John arrived with the kid, clearly amused. Avery was sound asleep on the little portable bed that John finally brought up from the car.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Seriously, kiddo," John said, trying to take his mind off the curve of Dean's neck. He wanted nothing more than to run his tongue along it and feel his son shiver against him. It was starting to come close to an obsession. "You bend over any further for the boy and you're gonna be lookin' at the world from between your ankles."

"He's just a kid," Sam said defensively.

"He's _five_, not two," Dean countered.

"So, he's really…"

"Manipulating you?" John asked, barely keeping a straight face. "Like it's his damn job."

"You haven't touched me since you been here." Dean's voice floated softly through the darkness and John was instantly, completely awake. He'd fallen asleep on the couch after dinner, like an old man, and the boys had left him there. They were the only people who could move around without waking him up if he wasn't on high alert about something. The sounds of his boys were as much a part of him as his own heartbeat.

John cleared his throat and focused on his son's outline. "I've been dyin' to since five minutes after you pulled outta the hotel back in Tulsa."

"But you haven't," the kid pointed out.

If only he knew how badly John itched to touch him. How much he wanted to hold him and never let him go again. "What's best for you, what you need, comes first. I love you more than I want you. And I want you a whole hell of a lot, baby."

"Even after what happened?"

"Yes."

John felt the couch dip and suddenly Dean was lying next to him, the boy's breath hot against his neck. And fuck, he missed this more than the sex. Missed having his boy in his arms, feeling his breath on his skin. "I want you too. But I can't get… can't get _him_ outta my head. I want you to touch me and 'm afraid for you to. Afraid I'll remember at the wrong time and freak out. Afraid that I'm not… worth it anymore. I feel dirty… like 'm not good enough for you to touch anymore. Like he ruined me."

He fisted his hands in an effort to keep himself from touching. "'S not true. I love you and I ain't ever gonna stop. Nothin' he did can change us or ruin you. Would it be okay if I held you?"

There was silence and John was afraid he'd say no and he'd have to go another night without Dean in his arms. Everything he'd read said he'd have to ask permission before touching, and that he would have to find some way to deal with the frustration when he didn't get it. He felt his boy nod and wrapped his arms around the boy, grateful for the chance, and held him close until they both fell asleep.

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

When Sam found his father and brother wrapped around each other on his couch in the morning, he thought maybe it was just a strange one-time event. But eventually he realized it was more than that. There was just something about their body language when they were together, something about the way they looked at each other and spoke to each other as Dean made them breakfast and John set the small table. They'd packed up all their stuff just after lunch and John had taken Avery out to the car when Sam cornered his brother.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"The guy you fell in love with. Was it…" his voice trailed off and he took a deep breath, unable to believe that he was actually about to ask this question. It was insane. He'd be lucky if Dean didn't actually knock out some teeth. "Was it Dad?"

"Why would you ask me that?"

"It was, wasn't it?" Sam felt a sudden rush of anger. If it weren't true, his brother would have been angry. Instead his was defensive. It was bad enough that John had turned Dean into the perfect soldier, now he was using him for sex. And Dean was letting him, even thought it was love or some shit. "God damn it, Dean," he hissed out through clenched teeth.

"What?" Dean asked, scowling. He didn't seem angry really. Just… offended. "You gonna _judge_ us? You don't got the right to judge us, Sam!"

"'M not judgin' you… but he's our _father_, Dean. How long has he been taking advantage of you like this?"

Dean shook his head. "I was over 18. He didn't… he didn't molest me or rape me or take advantage of me. I wanted it so bad that I started drinkin' and usin' drugs 'cause I was tryin' to forget what a fuck up I obviously was. I mean, who the hell wants to have sex with their own father, right? Everything you're thinkin' about me right now, I thought about myself and worse. You hear about plenty of fathers who wanna fuck their kids, who sneak into their beds at night and fuck 'em up real good. But you never hear about kids who _want_ their fathers to sneak into their beds. The Oxy kept me from thinkin' about how _wrong_ I obviously was, from feelin' like I would die from the shame and pain of it. When he found out about the drugs, Dad insisted I get clean and stay clean but to do that… I had to tell the truth. You have to be brutally honest about shit in order to get off an addiction and stay off, especially the shit that hurts. So I told him."

"And he just decided that it would be a good idea to have sex with you?"

"No… he _loved_ me. I'm not gonna apologize for that. Are we fucked up? Yeah, Sam, we're seriously fucked up. But it's okay because we're honest with each other and even better we _work_. And we're actually happy. I'm not gonna feel ashamed of it, or of myself or how I feel. I'm not gonna live a lie. Not again. This is me. I can't be anything but who and what I am, not if I wanna stay sane. So take it or leave it."

"You'd choose Dad over me?"

Dean snorted. "You already chose 'normal' over both of us, Sammy. We're still right where you left us."

"This was goin' on… _years_ before I left."

"Yeah. I'm sorry for that. Sometimes I think one of the reasons you wanted to get away so bad was because you could feel that we were hidin' somethin' from you, that we kept you out of so much. Lies destroy. That's why I can't go back to livin' one. Even if Dad and I don't work out, even if we end badly… If one of us dies or gets sick of the other, it'll still be better than never having had what we got."

"What if Dad didn't… feel the same way about you?"

"Then that would've been… awkward. But it wouldn't have mattered. What mattered was that I was bein' honest. That I was bein' myself. It hurts to live a lie, Sammy. It hurts to deny who you are and be someone else every minute of every day. It hurts and it's exhausting and it… it _kills_ you inside."

Sam couldn't meet his brother's eyes. Why did it feel like they weren't just talking about Dean anymore? He felt Dean's hand on his shoulder.

"When you get tired of dyin' inside, you know how to find us."

"I'm not…"

"Not a single person in your life right now knows the real Sam. I'm not sayin' you're an addict, man. I didn't see you gettin' drunk or high or any of that shit. But you live like one. You _lie_ like one."

Sam's head shot up at that. Dean's eyes were so fucking sad. "They know the Sam I want to be."

"Then you need to want to be the Sam you are," Dean said with a smirk. "I know I liked that guy. Dad did too. Have him call me when you see him again."

Dean moved his hand to the top of Sam's head and smiled. Then he was gone, heading out of the apartment. The place felt impossibly small and empty without his family there. His father came back in a few minutes later, filling up even more space than Dean had, sucking all the oxygen out of the room. He wanted to rail at John for using Dean… but his brother had been so damn happy since John showed up. Whatever had been wrong with him was still obviously there, but it had done him a world of good to have their father around. That had to count for something, right?

"We're headin' out, Sammy. Dean said you know everything?"

Sam shook his head at a loss for words. "I don't… what the hell am I supposed to say? Congratulations?"

John snorted. "Yeah. I can see how you wouldn't feel like throwin' us a party. I sort of consider it a good sign that you haven't tried to shot, stab or at least punch me yet."

"Crossed my mind."

"I bet."

"If you hurt him, I'll kill you."

John pursed his lips and studied Sam's face. "Good. I'll deserve it. So… about you and me?"

"I don't know if I want anything to do with you anymore."

His father looked stricken. "Oh. I guess… I guess I can understand that, son." He swallowed and cleared his throat. He finally gave a half-hearted smile and a nod. "Take care of yourself, okay? Try to find a way to work the word 'Cristo' into a conversation or two every now and again."

Sam didn't expect seeing that look on his father's face would hurt so much, or that seeing him willing to just walk away would feel so wrong. His father was actually walking away for the first time. "Dad?"

The older man stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

He took a deep breath. "If you call, I'll still answer."

John snorted out a relieved laugh and turned to face him again. "Then I'll definitely call." John held out his arms and Sam stood to give him a hug.

It was almost embarrassing how much he craved his father's affection. More than that… his approval. He wondered if John had been holding back all this time for fear of his reaction when he found out about his relationship with Dean. John was still bigger than he was. He was shorter now, but his was still broader and stronger and… Dad. "I missed you, Dad," he said in an attempt at honesty.

"I missed you too, Sammy. Let's not go this long without seein' each other again."

"Yeah. Okay." Sam pulled away. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling a little awkward.

"And don't forget your wards, kiddo."

"I won't."

"Good boy," John said, sounding amused. His eyes were sparkling with silent laughter. "I love you, son."

Sam nodded. It was going to take a while to get used to this new version of his father. "Yeah. Me too."


	9. Epilogue

**Title:** Paint it Black 9/9  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1900  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Drug abuse, Sexual abuse, Violence

**Summary:** Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

_**A/N:**__ This has not been beta'd. If I made any really bad mistakes (or just did something that annoys you) let me know._

**Epilogue**

_Six Months Later…_

"Okay, buddy," Dean said, kneeling in front of his son, his hands on the boy's shoulders, "you got everything?" They were in the parking lot of Sam's apartment building. Even after all these years, it was still surreal for John to watch Dean with his own kid.

"Yes, Dad. How many times are ya gonna ask me that?"

"You're the one left your Mr. Beans in the back of the Impala last time and couldn't go to sleep."

Avery sighed. "Grampa, can you help me out here?"

John chuckled. "Don't look at me, kid. Bobby made us come all the way back to bring it to you so he could get some shut eye. So you got everything?"

The boy sighed and his shoulders sagged. "Yes," he said dramatically. "I have everything."

Dean ducked his head to catch the boy's eyes. "And you're gonna do everything Uncle Sam says, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. It would be nice for you to spend more time with your uncle, so be good so he won't, you know, refuse to let you come back." They'd already talked about what would happen to Avery if anything happened to them. Before Sam was back in their life, the choice had been for him to go to Pastor Jim. Now it was Sam. Sam was family and that mattered more than anything else. Everyone decided it would be best if Sam got to know Avery better, since there was a chance he might end up raising the kid.

"Uncle Sam _likes_ me. He's the one asked me to come over when you guys go on a hunt."

"I know. But Sam has yet to get the full effect of a whole 'weekend with Avery'. Alone. With no back up."

Avery gave his father a smile that was a mirror image of the older man's. "I'm _adorable_, Dad. Anyone would be lucky to have me for a whole weekend."

John chuckled. That apple didn't fall far from the tree. Both Dean and Avery knew exactly how they looked and were shameless in their exploitation of it. They went up to the new apartment Sam shared with his girlfriend. Avery knocked on the door, his small hand barely making much noise. John was about to knock again, to make sure they were heard, when Sam opened the door. He looked excited, like he had been waiting by the door for them.

"Hey."

"Hi, Uncle Sam," Avery said as he walked right in without an invitation like he owned the place. "Hey, Jess," they heard him say from deeper inside.

Sam watched him walk past, looking amused. "You guys gonna stay a minute or you need to hit the road?"

"We gotta hit the road," John said, "but we'll stay a while when we come back to pick him up."

Jess appeared in the doorway, all smile as usual. "Hey guys."

"Hi Jess," John said. "Thanks for this."

"You know how much I love the kid," she said.

"You still with this looser?" Dean asked with a little smirk. Jess just rolled her eyes good naturedly. "Just make sure he doesn't wait 'til Sunday to do all his homework, and that you check it. His interpretation of directions has been really… _creative_ lately."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Okay. We wanted to take him to an amusement park. That okay?"

"Yeah. That's cool. Just make sure he doesn't overdo it on the sweets. There's some oranges and orange marmalade in his bag."

"It's orange? What happened to grape?"

"Same thing happened to peach, man. Kid's goin' through fruit like crazy."

"Okay. We'll be fine. I'll see you guys soon. Be careful."

"Always careful, Sammy. And thanks for this."

"Any time. You know that, right? That you can count on me? I mean… I don't wanna do what you do, but I'm not ever just gonna drop outta your lives again."

"Yeah, son," John said, patting Sam's jaw, "we know. We'll see you in a couple days. See you in a few, Jess."

"Course we know that, Sammy," Dean said as they turned away. "Call us if you have questions or need somethin'

**SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN**

It was a routine now, Dean thought as he unlocked their hotel room door. They were finished with a long, hard hunt and John would go take a shower and jack off while he was in there. Offer Dean this tantric form of torture when his was done with his own. It was basically a very long, involved hand job that was billed as a way to increase trust and had been recommended on some website as a way for the partners of men who'd been sexually abused to 'help the healing process.' John had said that if he wanted to cum from it, it was best if he came close and backed down at least six times during the massage. It was just a suggestion, but Dean took it as a challenge and insisted on John bringing him to the brink seven times and easing him back down before getting him off. And the orgasms had been mind-blowing. But getting there… getting there seemed to take freaking _years_. How John stood it, he still couldn't figure out. Not even the hand job in the shower beforehand should have been enough.

Maybe they were working, all those hand jobs from hell. Because he'd been half hard all day. It wasn't the first time that had happened. Even on his worst day, he found John unbearably sexy. But today was different. He'd fooled himself before into thinking he was ready for more than just those damn 'massages' and a little making out, and those times had ended in disaster. Once he'd actually thrown up. It wasn't even that he didn't want sex anymore. It was just… so intense with John, that it scared him now. That loss of control that had once been such a turn on, such a rush, was terrifying. He felt almost as helpless against how much he wanted John as he did against the drugs and Sugar and that damn chain smoking bastard with the two black eyes and swollen nose that had come after the dealer.

But today, he wasn't afraid. Well, he was… but not as much as he had been. It was like he woke up and it was dwarfed by the need to feel John against him and in him, to smell him and taste his skin. It made him itch and tingle. So when John came through the door behind him and closed it, he pushed the older, larger man against it. Buried his face in the crook of his neck.

"Why the fuck do you always have to smell so damn good?" he murmured against his father's neck.

John huffed out what Dean assumed was supposed to be a laugh. "You asked me that before."

"And you shoved me in a cold shower. Gonna do that again?"

"Not unless you want me to."

Dean tentatively licked at John's neck, smirked when the older man trembled. "Only if you've fallen desperately in love with your right hand and don't want anything to come between you." He started working on his father's belt, desperation making his hands clumsy. Why the fuck did they wear so damn much clothing?

"Fuck, Dean, baby boy… you're drivin' me… _please_…"

"Need you in me, Daddy. Need your thick, hard cock to fill me up. Been fuckin' drivin' me crazy all damn day." Dean huffed out a triumphant breath at getting John's belt and fly undone and manhandled his father into the nearest chair. "The way you bite your lip when you're tryin' to do somethin' just right," he said as he pulled off his jeans. Lube… they needed lube. Where the fuck… he grabbed his bag and upended it, dumped everything out. Found the bottle his father used for the massages. There was only a little left, but it was enough. He straddled his father's lap and began opening himself up.

"Shit, look at you," John drawled, look up at him under heavy lids. "So fuckin' sexy…"

Dean bit back a whimper and kissed his father. All teeth and tongue, all the passion that he'd been afraid to give into for so long. Too long. But John wasn't touching him. He realized that with a sudden flutter in his stomach. He pulled away, breathless. "Touch me?" he said, his uncertainty turning it into a question. What if John didn't want to touch him anymore?

Hands where on him almost before he finished asking. One cupping his ass, the other sliding up his torso, under his shirts. John was looking up at him with warm eyes the color of dark honey and filled with tenderness and a kind of nervous uncertainty that made Dean love him more, made him feel like he might burst with it. "Like this?"1

Dean could only nod. He worked frantically at stretching himself enough for John's initial entry to not really hurt. There was always some pain, but if he was careful it wouldn't feel anything like it had with Sugar. Finally he pulled his fingers free and slicked up John's cock. He began slowly lowering himself on it, but once he felt the head actually breach his opening, the idea of slow and careful went right out the window. He slammed himself down on his father's dick, head thrown back and roaring out his pleasure as he did. When he looked at John again, the man looked completely blissed out. Eyes open to slits, lips parted.

He gave himself a few seconds to adjust and then began rocking his hips, slowly increasing the speed and strength of the thrusts. His dick was bouncing against John's shirt, leaving smears of precum. But he needed his hands for balance and leverage… he couldn't spare one to touch himself. Just the dick up his ass would be enough to get him to the finish line, but damn he was aching to be touched.

He felt the backs of John's fingers on his hard, throbbing cock and almost came from that, his rhythm faltering. "This okay, baby?" his father asked, his voice deep and rumbling.

He nodded. "Please…"

"Yeah," his father said as his fingers closed around him. "I got you, baby boy. Daddy's got you."

It was a filthy to say, probably a filthy thing to get off on hearing, but John knew him well enough to apply a little pressure to the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm.

"You know," he said almost conversationally, his own voice deeper, "it turns me on to think about the fact that the cock that's in me right now, that I love to suck and fuck, is the one that made me."

"Oh, shit, Dean, baby…" John groaned and he felt liquid heat as his father orgasmed inside him.

John held him close for a second while Dean licked and bite at his neck, leaving a few strategically placed hickeys. Then he began jacking Dean off in earnest.

"Com' on baby, cum for Daddy." It wasn't long before he was coming helplessly in John's hand.

Dean wasn't stupid enough to think that this would solve all his problems, that all the effects of what Sugar had done to him were completely gone now. But it was a damn good start.


End file.
